


A Judge of All Earth

by R_Credence_Hannibal



Series: Metamorphosis [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst and Romance, Background Relationships, Bat Family, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dark Bruce Wayne, Desperation, Disturbing Themes, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Heavy Angst, Insanity, Killing, Love, M/M, Mania, Multiverse, Murder, Not a Love Story, Past Joker/Harleen Quinzel, Past Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bruce Wayne, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Relationship(s), Repressed Memories, Secrets, Sequel, Twisted, Unhealthy Relationships, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-11-14 11:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18051647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Credence_Hannibal/pseuds/R_Credence_Hannibal
Summary: “Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else.”- Alan Moore, WatchmenOr…There is no one like you. No one.And there is no one like you.In the world?In the world.(Sequel to "A Serious Man on Serious Earth")





	1. Directive One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the targets.

                        “Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared.”

 

                                                                        -  Francis Ford Coppola,  _ Apocalypse Now _

 

 

* * *

 

 

        Bruce enjoyed the sharp metallic smell around him. He took it in small wafts, rather like a nice wine. Blood is always a price to pay, the finest of which becomes indistinguishable after prolonged exposure. The Joker’s laugh was occasional but enough to settle his nerves. Bruce knew what would happen if they stayed too long. He did not push Joker though; he admired his handiwork body by body, analyzing each with immeasurable joy. His mannerisms comforted Bruce when he needed it… and  _ only _ when he needed it. When he did not, the Joker seemed to have the sense to stay away. It was something oddly mesmerizing about him. 

 

        He preoccupied himself with the last body, smelling the blood in ecstasy. Bruce preferred to watch more than anything. He had done all this for him so he supposed Joker was doing this as a thank you to him. Bruce did not need a thank you, he needed to get out of this hellhole. While he admitted that the tranquility of the area allured him, it was not tempting enough to risk being caught by anyone. It would not be long before others would be after him. It was a matter of speed and Joker was spending it on the those who could no longer move an inch. Irritation rose within him, dark and festering. Joker perked his head up, as if tuned to every one of Bruce’s emotions. He smiled at him, full of teeth and dimples. Bruce particularly liked that smile. It meant things would be moving forward.

 

        “Batman has blood on his hands,” he spoke, uncharacteristically low. “What shall we do about that, B?” Bruce did not need to ponder; he had spent the majority of his time doing that already. They needed to get to Gotham and from there, whatever the Joker needed was his. His every whim and desire would be accounted for. Money was not a problem, people were not a problem. They were all just variables in an equation Bruce had grown to learn all too well. We wondered if and when someone would ever get as good as he was at such. 

 

        “The jet is outside,” Bruce responded. “Gotham will have everything we need. From there, anything else is interchangeable.” Bruce’s tone was deadpan, as per usual, but with more of a lower tone than he had used before. His throat felt raspy from the Pit’s liquids. Joker, smirking at him, walked over to Bruce. His eyes gleamed with some strange devotion. Joker’s bony finger made its way to his lips. It sent a chill down Bruce’s spine. He liked it. Joker reveled in this discovery, smirking turning into amusement as he pulled away.

 

        “We need to get going then, Batsy! We don’t got all day!” He kicked the entrance doors open, successfully swinging one of the heavy doors open just an inch. But, Joker was lean and fit through rather nicely. Bruce simply pushed the door open and caught up to Joker. When he did, he managed to guide him in the right direction towards the Bat-Wing. It wasn’t long before Joker began to complain about the distance on foot. “Oh, you sneaky bat! You’ve devised all this just to kill me, haven’t you?!” Bruce snorted. 

 

        “It is not far, Joker,” he replied. “I suggest you drink some water while we’re in the plane.” Joker snorted, but then paused once more. Bruce followed shortly after, turning back to view the Joker. His eyes shone with electricity but his stance was still and calm. He was staring at the snowy mountains in the near distance. Bruce approached him slowly and methodically; he knew something was different about this stance. His hands rested on the small of Joker’s back. He shivered at the contact. He was in another dimension it seemed. The world seemed very quiet at that moment. Bruce liked it but could not ignore the nagging worry in the back of his head. Any moment the League could arrive to take them out easily. It would be no fight, there could be no fight. “We must go––”

 

        “Bruce…” Joker said. He continued to stare at the mountains. Joker’s smile widened when he finally did turn back to meet Bruce’s gaze. His cowl was draped on his back, exposing his face, and his shoulders hung low (uneasy with the Joker’s strange behavior). “When are we going to…  pop our cherries?”  At first, there was an almost unbearable silence. Bruce wasn’t sure whether or not he was being serious. But then, he snorted with laughter once more. Joker hung his head back and Bruce slowly, but surely, joined in his laughter. Bruce loved this more than anything; any regrets he could have had would have never amounted to anything in comparison to this. Laughing with the Joker freely was never something he allowed himself to do… until recently. “Now, let’s get going Batsy!” They continued to walk until they reached the peak of the hill where the Bat-Wing sat, almost menacing in the darkness that surrounded it. 

 

        “Joker,” Bruce called. “Get in first.” The Bat-Wing’s engine stirred as Bruce plucked the keys from his utility belt. Joker climbed in as soon as the door popped, swerving his body around to get to the back seat in an almost unnatural way. “There’s another way to do that, Joker.” Bruce’s tone is reminiscent of the older times when he repressed all his urges and returned each of Joker’s words with a punch. Those times were replaced over time with the exchange of dialogue. Despite its shortness, it always left an impact on Bruce, whether or not he liked to admit it did. It made the Joker human and that was the beginning of the ruination. Bruce didn’t care too much about that now. Now was an illusion and then was gone. Time wasn’t something Bruce cared to linger on. 

 

        “Bruce, I wasn’t just joking back there you know,” said Joker. He pulled out a tub of lipstick he stole from Talia’s quarters. It was a bright red type that dried to the lips, making his already chapped lips even rougher. “There were a lot of things I expected back there but a kiss” –– he paused, for emphasis –– “was not on my list!” Bruce cackled from the front seat, adjusting the Bat-Wing’s settings slightly. In the event that any of his former companions or partners were to stop him from midair, Bruce created a device to block any and all interference in his communication’s link. As he pulled a few switches and pressed a few buttons, the Joker sighed and leaned back in his seat. The interior of the Bat-Wing was of high quality, by Bruce’s own design; the seats were leather and reclinable. 

 

        “I saw you,” Bruce said quietly. “But it wasn’t really you. Just a hallucination” –– he paused, to think –– “It’s how I figured out what I really wanted.” Joker giggled, almost like a school girl. His laughter, as it always did, vibrated through the aircraft. “What?”

 

        “I know that already, detective. What makes you think that wasn’t the plan all along?” Joker chortled in the back seat as Bruce started the plane. The sound was oddly quiet inside the plane, besides Joker’s laughter. Bruce was enlightened by that sound though; it gave his mind peace that he sorely needed. He needed to plan his next moves against all his soon to be enemies. The Bat-Wing took off smoothly, leaving Joker unimpressed. It wasn’t long before he began to chatter once more. “Batsy, we must get down to business!” he exclaimed. “There is something still holding you back… from being your true self.” Bruce furrowed his brows as he steered the plane through the cloudy and starry night sky. 

 

        “What is it?” Bruce asked. 

 

        “I’m afraid we must let all the birdies fly off. It’s such a shame really, I had so much fun with them.” Joker’s tone was less than remorseful but Bruce doesn’t catch on to it. Instead, he found solace in this new goal; he needed to cleanse himself from everyone else who would stop him. One by one or together, they would try to stop the Joker and himself. It seemed only fitting that both of them would have to put up a fight. His mind buzzed with all the gruesome possibilities that could come his way. He thought about Dick and how his own mind and body had stolen the precious experience of his kill away from him.

 

_         It’s a shame. _

 

        “Who should come first?” Bruce asked, almost enthusiastic. Joker smiled sickeningly from the back seat, placing his hands to rub Bruce’s broad shoulders. He deepened the touch, his thumbs rubbing circles near the crooks of his neck. The action sent shivers through Bruce’s entire body; it was almost sensual. However, Bruce did not lose his focus. He kept his hands gripped tight to the steering console, holding it steady. Joker leaned his head to fit in the right crook of his neck, nuzzling him and gently pecking his jawline.

 

        “I think,” Joker started. He repositioned his head for his lips to be right against Bruce’s ear. “We should start with blood.” Joker bit the lobe of his ear, causing Bruce to flinch slightly. Joker chuckled softly at the playful gesture. Bruce joined in but was the last one to stop. The silence led to thought and the Joker, using this time, proposed confirmation from Bruce. “What do you think, Bat-brain?” 

 

        “Blood is a good place to start.”


	2. Directive Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the child.

        “I'll deliver the children back to their doorsteps. I'll send the monsters back to the underground. I'll send them back to a place where no one else can see them except for me…”

 

                                                               - Richard Kelly,  _ Donnie Darko _

 

* * *

 

        Bruce landed the plane softly in the Bat-Cave. In the back seat, Joker slept soundly. Bruce sighed as he turned off the engine and controls, finding the world around him exhausting. The cave echoed behind him, every sound vibrating through it. Bruce took a few minutes just to sit and relax. Joker stirred, smiling with a rather drowsy expression. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, causing Bruce to snap out of his lucid state. His very limbs felt tired from all the night’s work, the early morning light casting a glow a few yards towards the cave’s exit. Bruce opened the Bat-Wing’s door, pulling it up and holding it for the Joker. He climbed out, stumbling slightly when he planted his feet on the ground. In all of their years fighting, Bruce was unsure whether or not Joker had ever seen the Bat-Cave. As soon as he was fully coherent, Joker widened his eyes to his surroundings. 

 

        “Oh my,” he said under his breath. “So this is it, isn’t it?” Bruce nodded briefly. He took in a sharp breath through his nose, his lips curving into a faint smile. His eyes seemed strangely human without the eyeshadow he always wore. It was a quality that Bruce enjoyed about the Joker; there was always more to learn about him, always something left to uncover. He never got boring, like all the others. He managed to always surprise Bruce without even trying. “The Bat-Cave!” Joker exclaimed. His voice echoed through the cave, as did the laugh that proceeded it. His voice was a welcomed comfort here. In the cave, Bruce always felt the silence creeping upon him, reminding him of all those things he could not do. But now, the one thing he couldn’t do stood in the cave, spinning with childish excitement. He ran up to the large penny, awing it like a giddy fan. He pointed at it and then ran up to the large T-Rex, jumping with joy and bursting with laughter “Oh Brucey, please” –– he laughed in between his words –– “Please tell me who did this one!” Bruce could not remember the name of the inventor for the life of him.

 

        “I don’t remember his name, I can look it up for you later on the computer,” Bruce said. Joker continued to laugh, his laughter only dying down when he spotted the giant Joker card. Around the card, items of various fights with the Joker were encased and on display. Joker was silenced as he inspected each one of them. He seemed to be reminiscing and Bruce couldn’t help but join him. He stood a few feet away, staring at his (secretly) most prized possession on display. “The candy trap was recovered after you were put back in Arkham. It’s been here ever since.” Joker muttered to himself things Bruce could not hear. Joker seemed to pause at one item though. It was a canister of Joker toxin. Bruce knew why he stopped at that one. It was the first sign that Bruce had that the Joker shared his longings. On the bottom of the purple canister was a note scrawled into the metal. It was barely readable then and worsened with the toll of time, but Bruce still knew what it had said.

 

_         “There’s no one like you. No one else but you.” _

 

        “You kept all these?” Joker asked, turning his head in Bruce’s direction. Bruce nodded as Joker chuckled faintly. Joker’s eyes were filled with unshed tears. The display of emotion made Bruce feel even weaker on his feet. His knees were somewhat wobbly and Bruce felt like a middle schooler because of it. Joker didn’t seem to pick up on this. He opted to walk over to Bruce instead. He pulled him in for a hug, something Bruce did not expect. His grip around Bruce’s shoulders was tight, like a snake’s. Bruce returned the hug with the same passion. “It’s still true, you know,” Joker whispered. “There is no one like you.” Bruce inhaled Joker’s scent; he smelled of battery acid and sweat. He didn’t deny himself his enjoyment of the smell. 

 

        “And there is no one like you,” whispered Bruce. Joker sighed contently, his grip loosening. His arms remained around Bruce though, Joker’s head tilted back slightly to stare back at Bruce. His gaze was intimate and Bruce replicated that gaze, an immense feeling of emotion coursing through his body. “I will be by your side, forever and always.” Joker nodded, a touched expression spreading across his features. Joker’s hand moved to the back of Bruce’s neck, pulling him down to meet his lips with his own. It was bittersweet, ended abruptly by the target. 

 

        “Father?” Damian called out. He was dressed in his jeans and a white shirt, an uncommon sight to see. Damian was used to the class of high life living, money was an important aspect of his short life. This was something Bruce hated about his son, among many other things. He was a spoiled child from birth, by design; Talia and Ra's had raised him that way. Recently, not long before the Joker had died, Damian had made the decision to live with Jason after a particularly bitter argument. They had always fought around the basis of what was and wasn’t justice. Damian had killed before and he was unaffected as a result. Bruce had attempted to bring Damian away from that kind of thinking, away from what Bruce knew he would become. But, as all things fell apart, Bruce had learned that none of it mattered at all. It was all pointless; he could never disobey him if he no longer could breathe. The look of pure shock was displayed clearly on his face, his young features contorting and shifting slowly into disgust. “W-what are you doing?” Bruce flinched slightly at the sound of his nasally voice. Joker peeked from behind Bruce, spotting Damian with a toothy grin. 

 

        “Hey, little birdie!” Joker called. “Didn’t expect to see you just quite yet. Your timing is all  _ off _ .” He stressed the last word with not-so-subtle malice. Bruce made direct eye contact with Damian, as if to challenge him. Joker stepped away from Bruce to reveal himself fully. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Damian seemed to be at a standstill, looking between both Bruce and Joker. Then, as if the lightbulb in his head had flicked on, Bruce could see Damian comprehend what had happened. “I think we should” –– Joker paused, walking over to the giant penny –– “catch up.” The atmosphere in the cave was intense. Damian remained where he stood, almost taunting Bruce with how easy he could strangle him. Perhaps then, he would listen. Most of his “family” never listened. Most of them simply told and expected to be listened to and nothing else in exchange. Bruce didn’t mind that; he had always been alone and that was simply the result of such a venture as being the Batman. Loneliness was accustomed to, not tolerable. 

 

        “Father?” Damian spoke once more. “What have you done?” He phrased it like it was a bad thing. But, bringing back the Joker was the only good thing Bruce had ever done. He had given himself another chance to fully realize what he had stored away for decades. It had reawakened him to see a whole new rainbow of colors in the world around him. It was not “what he had done” but rather “what he will do” that Bruce was focusing on. Joker cackled, circling Damian methodically. “Why did you resurrect him?”

 

        “Oh, such a pity! The littlest robin is finally leaving the nest!” Joker shouted. Bruce closed his eyes, honing in all his senses to the Joker’s guiding voice; it calmed him and always had in the past, despite how much he had hated himself for knowing it. Damian muttered something under his breath and Bruce comes to a sudden realization: Damian is bait. Dick missing from the equation easily explained his theory. He comes behind Joker, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling him back. Joker’s expression became rather irritated. “What?” he asked.

 

        “It’s bait to lure us,” Bruce whispered. “He’s bait to lead us to Dick. Most likely others as well.” Joker awed quietly and then began to make tsking noises with his tongue. His hands go to his hips. “The Cave is compromised.” Damian silently watched them from form the steps of the cave. 

 

        “What do we do then, Bat-brain?”  Joker asked. He giggled darkly to himself as Damian muttered something over his comm link again. Joker stared at him intensely; it reminded Bruce of when Damian had asked about Jason’s suit. It was innocent enough but, it didn’t make Bruce any less mad. Talia and Ra’s had avoided telling him over all the years about their own making of Jason Todd. All of his sons, Jason was the one that held the most weight against Bruce. Of all the crimes Bruce could and had committed, letting Jason die had been his worst. Joker showed him that day what the was willing to do to keep his attention. Despite this, Bruce still always had the upper hand with Jason. He could never control his anger, it controlled him. Bruce didn’t have anger, he had urgency. 

 

        “I have a back-up plan they don’t know about,” whispered Bruce. Joker leaned his head back onto Bruce’s shoulder, visibly allured. 

 

        “Oh, how I adore you and your paranoia.” Bruce quickly pulled out another disabler, pressing it and instantly disabling Damian’s commlink. His next move was to use the computer to lock down the Bat-cave to himself and the Joker exclusively. Damian moved immediately, hopping on his nimble feet from step to step. Joker didn’t follow him, watching him almost trip at his rapid pace. He slipped behind the door and disappeared behind the hefty stone door. Joker laughed, echoing through the entire cave. “Batsy, Batsy, Batsy!” Joker said in between laughs. “You are simply amazing!” He ran a shaky hand through his greasy green hair. Bruce quickly changed the lockdown settings, allowing the Joker in and everyone else out. He enacted extra safety settings such as the stunning guns at the entrance and the lasers around the back entrances. 

 

        “Joker, you need a shower,” Bruce said, getting up from the chair. Joker grimaced, sporting a pouty face.

 

        “Well gee Batman, how polite you are.” Bruce smiled and so did Joker. 


	3. Directive Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the association.

 

        “When we're in love we experience pleasure, and extreme pain.”

 

                                                        - Paul Thomas Anderson, _The Master_

 

* * *

 

        Bruce had a moment to himself as the Joker made his way to the shower rooms. Underneath the cave, Bruce had installed a locker room of sorts for himself (and his family at the time). Bruce didn’t understand the Joker at this moment; he was paused at the door in front of the shower area. His hesitation alerted Bruce but his expression was of pure thought. He was thinking and Bruce wanted to know why. Joker tilted his head in Bruce’s direction, pointing a finger and extending it repeatedly. Bruce did as told and followed him there as Joker finally entered the area. Once both of them were inside, the rock door slid shut behind them. Joker spotted the many shower heads, pointing from all directions. Bruce paused, surveying the Joker as he turned around to face him. He flinched when Bruce took his hand from mid-air; he planted a kiss on his skin.

 

        “Why are you doing that for?” Joker asked. Bruce looked back up, and without responding, kissed Joker on the lips. He pulled himself in by placing his arms around the back of Bruce’s neck. A rumble of laughter vibrated the action. Bruce rather enjoyed the feeling.

 

        “It’s a reminder,” Bruce said. “A reminder that you’re really here.” Joker smiled.

 

        “Such a romantic,” said Joker. He searched around the room briefly with his eyes, spotting the cameras and laughing. Then he paused, bit his bottom lip, and leaned in for more. Bruce had his hands on the small of Joker’s back. He moved them down to his thighs, picking him up and leaning his body against the smooth concrete walls. At that moment, Bruce was reminded of a moment where he had come close to kissing the Joker. It was shortly after he had hijacked an amusement park. The chase had lasted for hours, exhaustion failing to ever catch up with them. At a point, Bruce had cornered Joker in the warehouse district. The alleyway was empty except for the two of them and a dumpster. It was earlier in Bruce’s career, when he didn’t stay out as long and his thoughts were more naive. Bruce had approached him with intimidation and fear for his inner conflicts seeping out. Joker made no effort to escape capture. He let Bruce cuff him but not before whispering something in Bruce’s ear.

 

_“I can hear all your thoughts.”_

 

        He had winked at him then, receiving a proper sucker punch to the face. Bruce had felt his breath on his neck; he had felt his chin graze his collarbone. Even through the armor, Bruce had felt the touch resonate throughout his body. Later the same day, Bruce mended his wounds with an uncomfortable enjoyment. But now, Bruce did what he never could before. Clothes were abandoned on the concrete floor. He sucked bruises all over his neck, savoring all the noises that came with them. Joker was panting when Bruce finally descended. Joker’s left hand explored Bruce’s hair while his other hand absentmindedly hit a button that activated all the shower heads to turn on. The water was barely below scorching. Joker’s sounds of ecstasy increased in volume and amount. Joker took in sharp shaky breaths. When he finally finished, Joker’s legs shook, tremors going through his entire body. Bruce was entranced at the sight. He smiled in the aftermath and the Joker back.

 

        But it was far from over. Joker lunged at him, pinning him down on the floor. Bruce obliged and let Joker trap him there. Joker’s eyes were full of lust. Bruce memorized the image. In his time on Earth, he had found no pair of eyes as interesting as his. Each emotion encapsulated in them was so clear and vivid yet complicated. Every time he saw them, he became lost. He wondered what it would be like to have eyes like that for himself. They gleamed as Joker rose, back and forth. The motion and energy Bruce gave back was just as much as Joker gave to him. And once both of the bottles of lightning struck, Joker collapsed onto Bruce’s chest. Both of them were gone of the energy they once had, both now and for their years. Years of chase, catch, and release were behind them. They both had a moment to breathe, together and alone all at once.

 

        Bruce carried Joker to a secret bedroom area hidden behind the waterfall. It was often used for other various people Bruce had met and slept with through the years. He made a conscious effort in his days to never mention the room to his children or associates. It made him feel secure whenever he needed a place to get away to during his years of crime-fighting. It was peaceful and soundproof, just to Bruce’s design. The scanner above the door scanned his eyes and cleared him inside. The door popped opened with satisfaction, air releasing almost silently behind the water falling behind his head. Joker giggled sleepily. Bruce walked inside and the door shut behind them softly. He placed him on the bed and stood and stared for a little too long. He then laid beside him and fell asleep. The morning came just as quickly.

 

        “Bruce,” Joker whispered. Bruce opened his eyes to meet Joker’s, shining brightly back at him. His face was strained by a smile larger than life. “Time to wakey-wakey. I think we might have visitors soon.” Bruce groaned but got up from the bed, finding both of them absent of clothes. He turned to the modern dresser drawer in the center of the right wall. On the left, Joker got up from the bed and used the bathroom while Bruce got dressed. Bruce grabbed a shirt and pants and threw them at joker from the bathroom; he turned and caught them at the precise time he finished drying his hands. Joker surveyed the room as Bruce pulled on a shirt. The colors around them were gray and dull, the Joker a sharp contrast to his surroundings. In a way, it was a reflection of his past. But the future was there and looking around curiously. Joker pointed at a snowglobe on top of the dresser drawer. “What’s this here for?” Joker asked. He surveyed Bruce’s face for any emotions. “Nostalgia, perhaps?” Bruce stared at the globe intensely.

 

        There was a point where Bruce truly hated the Joker. It was the same day Jason Todd had died. He had been bruised, bloody, and beaten in his arms. He had taken him home and stared at his body for a long time, something within him snapping at that very moment. It was no longer a game or facade that Bruce wanted to keep up. It was then he knew that the Joker, in all his surrealness, was just as human as Bruce himself. He was turned by jealousy to commit such an act. It was afterward that Bruce had avoided the Joker thoroughly for the following months. It was not long before Joker retaliated for that action as well. Joker had planned a grand scale gasing of all of Gotham. When it happened, Bruce was forced to intervene, as were the rest of the family. He hated working with others then but he also knew that there was simply no other choice for the matter.

 

        It was not what Bruce had expected; when he spotted the Joker in his hideout, specifically designed to cater to the weaknesses of his family members as to not follow, he looked ill. Perhaps just as ill as Bruce had been looking. It was then that Bruce could feel the one emotion other than the grief he had felt since Jason had died. He had walked to him then, with no fear or pretense. He simply waited until Joker acknowledged him and, when he finally did, Joker smiled faintly. It was then where they were able to share a period of time together with complete peace and tranquility. It wasn’t the first time this had happened but it did signal to both of them that it would happen in the future again. It wasn’t long before Joker spoke, his tone rather sorrowful.

 

 _“The things you do for love, am I right?”_ he had whispered. Bruce snorted and then the silence was broken. They took Joker to Arkham and it was then that Joker attempted to take his own life. No one at Arkham’s staff made any attempt to stop him; the floor was stained with his blood, a deep red puddle that confused Bruce more than he liked. It was then, however, in a subtle way, Bruce had let Joker know his darkest secret. In the hospital room, empty by request, Bruce had scanned the room for anything that could record what he was about to do. He slowly removed his right glove and met Joker’s fingertips with his own. He shuddered at the touch, closing his eyes and honing in his thoughts. He snatched his hand back, afraid; Bruce was afraid of himself. While Bruce no longer felt that, the feeling followed him until the day Joker died.

 

        Fear had always driven him. His parents' death had instilled fear of losing his city and the ones he loved. Fear had perpetuated his every action with the Joker. It was this fear that he carried with him and as Jason died, that fear had died simultaneously. The worst that could happen had happened and it only left him bitter. His hesitancy was gone and replaced with apathy. He no longer cared about anyone or anything. It was only when Joker had finally broken the silence between them that Bruce had felt anything and soon that was the only person who ever made him feel anything. He grew to revel in anything and everything he did; Joker, in return, did anything and everything he could to impress him. It became a new kind of game that his family could never understand. So, in formation, they deserted him. Bruce didn’t care too much about it. Nothing mattered too much anymore.

 

        But when Bruce reminisced about his time with the Joker, his question was still not answered. The snowglobe had reminded him of all of his time spent with the Joker but it wasn’t supposed to. Bruce stared at it a little longer and remembered where it had come from. It was a Christmas present from Jason. It had been their first year together as Batman and Robin. He had smiled then, even laughed… without the Joker. Bruce picked up the snowglobe, inspecting it. Inside, there was an igloo and a few penguins. Little flakes of fake snow slowly fell upon them with the motion. He remembered the face of Jason in his youth, naive yet capable. He had anger yet power. He was disobedient yet loyal. Bruce put back the globe harshly, turning to the Joker calmly.

 

        “I don’t remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to post a chapter every three days until I end the storyline. Have fun with it!


	4. Directive Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the believer.

        “Chaos is order yet undeciphered.”

 

                               - Denis Villeneuve,  _ Enemy _

 

* * *

 

        The world around him was becoming progressively more and more pathetic in its attempts to capture Bruce’s attention. Bruce was in the room that hid his large stash of Kryptonite. Most of it was large chunks so Bruce scavenged to find smaller pieces to help create his ideal weapon to take out Clark. He knew, immediately, that he would be the hardest force to reckon with. It would not be easy to take him down without the massive stash of Kryptonite in his possession. But, Bruce was also aware that Damian had to of been reporting to someone, most likely his family. It would be the intelligent thing to alert Superman of this obvious concern to his safety. But Bruce knew Dick and Jason well. If they were together, planning something, then they would never think to contact anyone outside of the family. It has never been in their nature to call for help. It was a weakness he had instilled into them from the beginning of their partnerships with him. It was something he had struggled with himself. 

 

_         Like father, like son.  _

 

        Once Bruce pocketed enough pieces to his satisfaction, he returned to the Joker in the Bat-Cave. When he found him, Joker was leaning against a pillar of stone. In his hands was a pen he had snatched from Bruce’s desk; he twirled it between his fingers as he eyed Bruce moving towards him. There were no words spoken between them. There didn’t need to be at this particular moment. Joker smiled and followed Bruce as he pulled on his cowl over his face. The mask whited out his eyes, something that had always lured Bruce to the design of it. He liked the absence of color. It made him seem less human and, therefore, more comfortable. The suit’s design had been Alfred’s handiwork.  In all his years of loyal service to Bruce, not once did he ever question his motives. Bruce had never questioned Pennyworth’s unwavering loyalty in return for this. It was a double-sided coin and now that he had been buried and decayed, Bruce could only wonder why he did all the things he had for him. 

 

        “Bruce,” Joker said cooly. “When do you think we can leave here?” He was staring at cave’s ceiling, bats hanging and chirping. It was winter, the time of hibernation, and they seemed to be reveling in the solemn atmosphere the cave brought on. Joker seemed rather impatient here and it killed Bruce to keep him here. He wanted to see that smile and hear that laughter. Keeping him contained wasn’t healthy for either of them. 

 

        “I don’t know,” Bruce said softly. “But I hate it here as much as you do,” Joker scoffed, the sound echoing. The bats above were stirred by it, the very vibration of it causing a strange scurry amongst them. He sighed deeply and replaced his frown with a faint smile. 

 

        “Batsy, you live here, it must be comfortable!” Joker said. “Even if I do get a little stir crazy.” His words unsettled Bruce for several reasons. The Joker’s very presence here was a violation of everything it had stood for. Every piece of stone, every item on display, dripped of Bruce’s oppression. The very design reflected this; the drab architecture, the colorless displays, and the museum-like quality to the cave left him with goals to leave it. It was always the mission and nothing else. His focus involved even the minutest of details. He caught them though, like a fly in a spider web. He never missed anything this way. But, with the Joker looking through all his years spent in this lair like a picture book, he couldn’t help but be disturbed by the ideals it upheld. 

 

        He remembered an incident in which Tim Drake had asked him too many  _ invasive  _ questions for his liking. It was a quiet night, the smell of morning dew had filtered through into the cave’s atmosphere. Bruce was exhausted from the night’s long drag. Riddler had tormented the GCPD and its cops for hours. He had taken around eight police personnel as hostages and, in exchange for their lives, Nygma purposed riddles. Rather strangely, most of the riddles seemed to be focused on sex. Bruce intercepted while Tim had escorted the hostages out of the police department. He asked Bruce all the same riddles as the policemen. He had thought nothing of it. Nygma always tried to find the dark secrets within people; it didn’t really work if Bruce was already aware of his untold desires. Tim had interrupted his typing spree. He was writing down notes on the incident, mainly the newer gadgets he had invented. He had placed a hand on his shoulder, as if to comfort him; it rather left Bruce with the opposite effect. 

 

_         “What do you want?”  _ Bruce had asked him. Tim removed the hand, almost offended by Bruce’s tone with him. Bruce rather thought he should have expected that response. He didn’t like to touch like that, he hadn’t since Jason. It was already sparking too many questions within the one gesture alone.

 

_         “Do you think the Riddler is gay?”  _ Tim asked. Bruce had never really given that much thought for any of his Rogue’s gallery, especially Nygma. He was pretentious at best and often got on Bruce’s worst kind of nerve. It didn’t really matter to him and Tim knew that. It was the underlying implication that he was looking for. A sign of maybe relation to himself through this fact. He wanted to know if Bruce was gay. So, in a matter of a few seconds, he dodged the question in the most calculated way he could.

 

_         “Never thought about it,”  _ answered Bruce. It was partially true. He hadn’t thought about it with him but the implication was still there, still lingering. It seared Bruce’s mind as if it were on fire. Tim seemed unsatisfied with this answer. He continued to pressure him, prolonging the question by making it into a discussion.

 

_         “I mean, seriously though, you’re the detective. Don’t you think so?” _

 

_         “Tim, I don’t care,”  _ Bruce muttered under his breath. Tim sighed, rolling his eyes briefly before he continued. 

 

_         “It doesn’t matter, obviously but––”  _ But, in a lapse of miscalculation, Bruce had consequently given Tim his answer. 

 

_         “No… no, it doesn't  matter.”  _ That had ended the conversation.

 

        "This place is… ” he started. Joker paused, turning his body to him attentively. “There” –– Bruce pointed towards the waterfall –– “I thought about all the things I couldn’t do. And over there, I thought about you.  And the bats, they watch me and my thoughts. The cave itself can…  _ hear _ what I think. It was a reminder… a reminder to distance myself from you. A reminder that whatever I did, whoever I did” –– He looked up and Joker followed the action –– “They would be watching.”  Joker kept his eyes on the bats, watching them flutter from ledge to ledge. Bruce felt his eyes grow hot with the memories. “They never spoke of it but they knew and that was enough.” Joker kept staring, speaking slowly. 

 

        “They cannot hear you now,” he said. “I will make sure of it.” It was a silent plead from Bruce to leave and Joker could sense it. Anywhere but here. Bruce knew of a few sewer systems that connected to the cave. In total, there were about three. Only Alfred and himself had known about the third one. He had kept this as a failsafe, in the event that one of his children had ever gone rogue. It was strategically created to be silent, as to not alert enemies of their doom. The irony of the situation did not elude him. Together, Joker and Bruce had loaded the Bat-Cycle with as many weapons, food, clothes, and Kryptonite as they could fit. Once they had stocked it, Bruce decided on one last measure of precaution. He set the cave to self destruct. It was something he had programmed into its algorithm long before Dick. It had eluded Alfred and everyone else. It was not easy to find. It was not something anyone looked for. Bruce knew all these things were in his favor. They broke the glass case and took the sentimental gas canister before they took off. 

 

        It was merely a few seconds before Tim Drake landed came out through one of the cave’s many secret entrances.  He had hacked through. He wore his Red Robin attire; he was the only one who still wore Bruce’s clothes now. When Damian had come back from his scouting mission, he painted a picture Tim just couldn’t believe. He hadn’t believed Dick when he had told his story and he had never believed Jason’s outrageous theories. He had to see it for himself, in person. There was no other way. He grappled his way to the top floor of the cave, heading straight for the Bat-computer. He saw the nameless timer but it wasn’t what he was looking for. He was distraught with fear of the inevitable becoming true. He checked the cave’s security footage and watched the past twenty-four hours in high speed. 

  
        When he had seen everything he needed to see, he could feel his legs grow stiff. His eyes were wide and his throat was dry. The words and thoughts he once had escaped him and for a moment, he sat down in the chair. His hands shook and he remembered a moment where Bruce had sat in the very same seat. He saw himself, younger and more naive, smiling. Tim smiled at the image faintly. He could feel a tear run down his cheek from beneath his mask. He took off the mask, wiped away the tear, and walked upstairs. He looked around the living room. It used to feel comforting and, now, it just felt _tainted_. The entrance door to the cave had closed behind him. He breathed in the smell of the dusty bookshelves and the smell of something rather unfamiliar. 


	5. Directive Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the loved.

 

        “We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are.”

 

                                               - Christopher Nolan,  _ Memento _

 

* * *

 

        It wasn’t long before it made national news. They determined that the body they had found was Tim Drake’s. Bruce cocked his head slightly at the news. It was a Robin down but not by their own hands. It was indirect and therefore, fully unsatisfying. Joker sighed and muttered obscenities under his breath. They were in a secret hideout in the thick of the city. Food, clothing, and supplies were fully stocked here. It was also another hidden hideout from his family. Joker was still wearing Bruce’s clothes, which were two sizes too big. Bruce was a relatively tall and bulky man; Joker was anything but bulky. He had muscle but not in a noticeable way. Around them,  the city buzzed with all different sounds. There were the usual sounds of moving cars and people talking. But, Bruce had learned over his years of listening, you can hear the other things too; there are the screams covered by bigger hands, the rats that scurry, the gunshots in alleyways, and the whispers among those who bleed. 

        He never had passed this information onto his sons. He had not passed on lots of his knowledge onto them; some days, he thought of how much he had passed onto them. It was as much as he was willing to give out. Bruce had always been a secretive man; since the day his parents’ cold bodies fell to the ground, he had kept many secrets. He was reclusive with his time and rarely ever spent time with people. If he were to linger on these thoughts a little longer, he would probably make the connection of his undiscovered sexuality. It was never apparent to him.  When his grief had taken over, Bruce didn’t think or care about sex. His teenage years were full of silent school days, each of them blurring together. He had met a few people in high school that still corresponded with him; they wouldn’t do that now but maybe before he had preoccupied himself with something more important.

 

_         Someone… _

 

        Joker was sitting on the maroon couch. It rather matched his shade of lipstick for the day. His thighs were crossed and his head was sitting in his hands. None of this was a good sign. But, even worse, Bruce found Joker to be the one thing he did not want him to be: Joker seemed quiet. Bruce sought to fill the room with noise, in whatever way possible. So, he went over to the turntable on near the small living space and pulled out a record. He placed the vinyl on the turntable and slowly allowed the needle to drop onto the record. The room filled with a subtle kind of music. Bruce didn’t care much for music but he knew Joker liked it. He had intentionally purchased all the songs he had played for him over the years, strategically placing each one of the records in only one hideout. He figured no one would notice; no one did. 

 

        “ _ You’re so like the lady with the mystic smile.”  _

 

        The vinyl popped a little, but not too much. Everything in this hideout was fairly new. He kept every one of his hideouts this way. Joker stood up as the song played, beginning to spin gracefully. He crossed his feet together and then he stands on the tips of his toes, spinning with confidence. Bruce watched intently. He had seen Joker many times in his lifetime. But, somehow, this one felt special. He no longer had to lie to himself; Joker  _ was  _ good at it. Bruce never asked about Joker’s life before he was the man he was today. But, if he were to make a brash assumption, Joker probably had taken a few dancing classes (perhaps even an improvising class as well). He spun and jumped; Bruce was captured and no one could take that away from him. He could watch without interruption. 

 

_         “Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa?” _

 

        He approached Bruce with practiced movements. Bruce could think upon all the times he had stopped to admire the Joker in this form: raw and unkempt. It was a sight he could see often now. He remembered when all those years ago, before Robin and the family, when there was only Alfred and himself, when he would stop himself to simply watch the show. Joker swayed over to him, in rhythm with the song, offering a hand to join him. Bruce smiled and took his hand. He was significantly less graceful than Joker was but neither seemed to voice this fact. There was a crash, like lightning against the side of the hideout. Bricks exploded into pieces and fragments as a figure emerged through the hole. 

 

_         “ _ _ Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa?” _

 

        They break apart but their hands stay clasped together. The figure walked out from the darkness with the only sounds between them, revealing a long violet cape. Blonde hair, seemingly wet from sweat, peeked out from out the hood. The black face mask was not as sturdy as it usually was. She pulled down her hood and face mask. Bruce eyed Stephanie curiously. Her stance was strong but her body seemed to breathe in as she did. Joker whistled at her, causing her line of sight to shift away from Bruce. Her blue eyes seemed to stay on Joker as she pulled out a Robin-rang from her belt. 

 

_         “Or is this your way to hide a broken heart?” _

 

        Stephanie charged him recklessly. Bruce took her down swiftly. He took her by the throat and lifted her up from the floor. She struggled against Bruce’s grip violently; her body was flailing and Joker behind him seemed to watch with intense interest. It acted as encouragement to Bruce. She stabbed his hand with the Robin-rang, causing Bruce to lose his grips. Blood spilled from palm, the Robin-rang making a clear cut through his hand. Stephanie Brown lunged for Joker, panting vigorously. Joker smiled and laughed as he rolled across the floor, ducking against her attacks. She threw multiple Robin-rangs in his direction before Bruce crept behind her. He took her by his forearm around her neck. She struggled once more as Joker arose from the ground. 

 

_         “Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep.” _

 

        Joker slowly walked towards her, bending down to pick up one of her abandoned Robin-rangs from the ground. The floor was doused in Bruce’s blood, some of it dripping from her shoulders as Bruce held her in position. Joker bent down to her level and watched her struggle in glee. He exchanged glances with Bruce from behind her. As he rose the tip of the rang to her mouth, she began to scream. Joker frowned at the sight, causing Bruce to tighten his grip against her neck. Her scream had been a fatal mistake. She lost more air than she had regained. Joker stared at her for a few moments. Bruce loosened his grip a bit as her movements against him became more stilted. Then she gave up. She no longer moved but she still breathed, albeit roughly. But she had little life left behind her eyes. She turned her neck to face Bruce as best she could. 

 

        “ _ They just lie there––”  _  The record popped, the turntable rewinding the record slightly. Then, it went back to turning clockwise with the needle slowly falling back onto the track.

 

        “You k-know, B-bruce,” she choked out. “You’re n-no b-better than Quinn.” Joker’s smile faded into a vicious kind of irritation. Bruce didn’t like the feeling that flowed in his blood; it made him uneasy. Joker sensed this too, by the disgusted look on his face. Tears fell from her eyes, mascara running down her face. She smiled faintly. Joker took her by the chin to face him. 

 

        “You see, there’s just one tiny-little-itsy-bitsy problem with that,” Joker spoke. He grew closer to Stephanie, her faint breathing barely audible. Their locked gaze exuded tension. “In fact, it’s the cruelest joke of all…” He stuck the Robin-rang in her mouth. Her face remained vacant of any concern. He brought it to the corner of her lips. “I never loved her.” Her face coiled in disgust. Then, in a flurry of motion, Joker removed the blade from her mouth and stuck it in her stomach. Blood dripped on Joker’s hand now. 

 

_         “And they die there…”  _

 

        She thought of Tim and she gasped for the last bit of air she could breathe. Flashes of images and memories plagued her. But one memory stung her more than the others. She had come here before, with Tim. Together, they had discovered the shady loft. In the bed, they had kissed and loved each other. In that same bed, she could now see herself and Tim. He parted a piece of her hair behind her ear as she took off her mask. He mimicked her, taking off his own mask. She smiled and choked on her own blood as she did. Her own form disintegrated into the room. Tim remained, looking towards Stephanie Brown, who found herself breathless. Tears escaped her eyes as she smiled back at him. Her body seized but, after a little time went by, Joker removed the blade. 

 

Bruce let go of her and rested his eyes. His hand stung with pain but that was nothing new to Bruce. What was new to him was the look on Joker’s face. He still seemed chilled by her words. The room still felt haunted by her words. He scooted next to Bruce, laying his head on his shoulder and looking at the wall in front of them. It was only the record and the two of them. They needed to leave, in order to escape in time before anyone came around. Gotham was shady but that didn’t mean that no one would notice. Especially special cases like these. Bruce’s identity was already exposed by Tim’s death. This would only seek to continue his exposure to the world. Gotham never cared about him or who he was; it was only what he represented that the masses clung to; hope held all of them at ransom. But now he had fallen, like everyone else, Gotham had turned their back on him. Joker was the only one who still remained at his side. He had always been there. 

 

_         “Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa?” _

 

        The world was warm with the Joker by his side. The blood that flowed from his hand was creating a large pool on the floor, mixing with Stephanie’s. Joker sighed, got up, and held out his hand in Bruce’s direction. Bruce stood up and took it with a smile. Joker smiled back at him as he eyed Stephanie’s body. Bruce mimicked the action, thinking of all the fun things they could do together. There were no limits to what they could next and it excited Bruce. Joker picked up the Robin-rang once more and lifted it to her features. Bruce couldn’t be happier. 

  
         _“Or just a cold and lonely lovely work of art?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit overdone at this point but I found that Nat King Cole really fit the Joker. (I swear it isn't because I watched the Joker trailer, I just NOTICED it okay. Please don't expose me.)


	6. Directive Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the makeover.

        “To look at them you wouldn't say that they are the same species... but they're growing from the same branch structure... so it _has_ to be the same species.”

 

                                                                                                                                                        - Alex Garland, _Annihilation_

 

* * *

 

        His hand was healing but Bruce knew that they had very little options left for themselves. This was why they now found themselves in one of Joker’s many hideouts. But it was also an element of surprise to his family, who Bruce thought would assume he was taking the lead in all of this. None of them could possibly comprehend that this was a team effort. They worked together to barricade the warehouse as best as they could. They had moved to the outskirts of Gotham, only a few miles from the border between Gotham and Metropolis. It was a seedy area, riddled with petty criminal activity. He took his younger apprentices here for that reason. It was an easy starting place. Bruce never expected even once that he would ever come here with the intention of renewing himself.

 

        Joker stared at his reflection in the funhouse mirrors with a faint smile across his face. He eyed Bruce curiously; Bruce always had an overshadowing figure. It was something he had worked tirelessly to achieve when he was younger. As a teenager, he thought himself too skinny and meek. He needed to be dominant and menacing, towering over criminals who got in his way. He has always retained that form ever since, rather out of habit more than any other reason. But here, as Joker tilted his head in his direction, in a chair with many scratches and bloodstains, Bruce couldn’t have felt more self-conscious. On the makeup vanity in front of him, Bruce could see a feminine scrawl on the corner of the mirror, written in red permanent marker.

 

_“J + H”_

 

        “Harley was a talker, wasn’t she?” Joker spoke, interrupting Bruce’s thoughts. Bruce nodded briefly as he approached him. Bruce smiled faintly up at him as Joker came to stand in front of Bruce, blocking his view of his own reflection. “Yeah… but you know something?” Joker continued. “She never understood it.” Joker straddled him in the chair, an action that Bruce could only imagine him doing to other men. For them, it was meant to intimidate them; for Bruce, it was meant to comfort him. “She could never see what I was doing, what I was… feeling, if you will” –– Joker paused, letting Bruce take his hand in his own –– “I guess we’re all blind when we’re in love.” He smiled at Bruce, who smiled back at him in return, and then threw his head back to laugh. Bruce chuckled lightly. Then, once they settled back into silence, Joker leaned into Bruce’s ear to whisper. “I’m going to give you a makeover.”

 

        Joker looked through the makeup on his vanity. Tubes of various shades of red lipstick, black eyeliners, and all different colors of eyeshadows permeated the table. The drawers were filled with accessories of all kinds from hats to scarves to suspenders of all variety of colors. Bruce felt strangely nervous for the experience. Never in his life had he ever _experimented_ when it came to his looks. He had stuck to simplicity; suits and ties for his day attire and armor and a cape for the night. That was all he ever had. So when the Joker began to paint his face, he rather found it remarkable how natural it felt. It was as if his face was meant to be painted. As he added the finishing touches, Bruce thought about his breakdown. When he had looked up from the sink water to see his own face warped like the Joker’s. He wondered if what he had been so afraid of seeing would still spark fear in him as it had before.

 

        “Voila!” exclaimed Joker. He stepped away from Bruce. It took him a few moments to fully comprehend the new look. “You look beautiful, Brucey!” Bruce inspected each pronounced feature, one by one. His eyes were thickly lined in black but the corners of which winged off to the sides of his face. His lips were a radial gradient of black to gunpowder. His eyelids were doused in a pigmented metallic gray, creating a shine against his eyelids. The feminity of the look on Bruce’s definitively masculine features was a striking contrast. Bruce thought of all of his hiding he had done over his years. It was something he had become accustomed to; something he had to do and it was never optionable. His image was everything. No longer did he have to carry that burden as he once had.

 

        It reminded him of a past occurrence, in which Jason had accompanied him in his middle school days. He was on the cusp of teenage hormones taking control of his youthful face. He still seemed to have a carefreeness to his actions and a well-rounded sense of self-preservation. He had not given up to anger or resorted to expressing his frustrations on unsuspecting purse snatchers. In those earlier days, Bruce remembered how _hopeful_ he felt about the future to come. The world seemed so stable then, even if Bruce still drifted off to his darker thoughts. Jason had found a piece of shrapnel from an explosive clue left by Joker; he often did this and Bruce, at the time, always found the process irritating. It meant more destruction and less time for other villains who often used the time to their advantage. It was a purple wooden plank of wood from a crate. Inside it, Bruce had found a piece of a treasure map, which seemed to be his theme for that month. Bruce sighed as Jason held up the plank in the air to get Bruce’s attention.

 

 _“Batman, I think I found something!”_ Jason had called out.

 

        Bruce took the plank and read the inscription carved into it. It was a message just for him and that was not as rare as Bruce would have liked it at the time.

 

_Do you like my makeup?_

 

        Bruce had never even thought about it before. But, as if on cue, Joker appeared from behind a building and another fight began. When Bruce reigned victorious, as he always had, Joker’s makeup had become rather runny. His mascara ran down his cheeks from sweat and his lipstick was smudged across his chin. His eyeliner smudged as well, creating a more smoky effect. As he cuffed him and put him in the back seat of the Batmobile, Robin had got in the passenger seat (a rare occurrence even at his age). He turned to the Joker as he quietly smiled to himself and stared at him for a while.

 

 _“I think your makeup is messy, clown.”_ Bruce almost choked. Joker had looked up at him with wide eyes, looking at Bruce’s seat as he drove. He did not move his gaze from driving. But, his grip, rather out of his own control, tightened around the steering wheel. Within the vehicle, there were a few moments of uninterrupted silence. Bruce, tense with anxiety, remained quiet. Joker was the one, as he always had been, to break the silence.

 

_“I wasn’t asking you, bird-brain.”_

 

        He stared into the mirror and a tear running down his face. Joker whipped around to thumb away the tear; he looked at Bruce with a blank expression. Bruce smiled at him faintly. He could tell Joker was offended by his reaction. But, he knew he wouldn’t be mad for long. Joker, as much as a talker he tended to be, was also a listener. He loved to listen to Bruce. Bruce assumed this was due to the fact that he never talked much. He didn’t have much to say unless it was warranted. He had gained the skill of silence from his time with the League of Assassins. Silence gave away nothing to your enemy; it showed no care or investment in the enemy’s actions against you. It had always caused the Joker to go farther and farther in his attempts to shock Bruce.

 

        “It’s beautiful,” whispered Bruce. Joker smiled and leaned closer to Bruce. He hovered centimeters away from his lips. Then, as if the world itself found their intimacy horrifying, a figure appeared in the darkness. A crackle and snap of a whip sounded throughout the madhouse. It was as distinct as Joker’s laugh. They both turned their heads to the sound, their close proximity broken. As the figure walked out, Bruce knew that this would not be easy.

 

        “And I thought they were crazy…” Selina spoke out. She wore her catsuit, that complimented her features to an almost obscene degree. Selina pulled her cat-eye goggles to dangle across her neck, striking a rather model-like pose. Joker curled his lip in disdain. “What are you boys up to, then?” Joker walked away from Bruce at the chair, walking up to her with visible displeasure. She eyed Joker with mild amusement. She seemed keen to keep her eyes far from Bruce. Bruce preferred it that way.

 

        “Miss Kyle!” Joker greeted. His mock sincereness was not lost on her. She smirked at him before replying.

 

        “Joker,” she greeted back. “I just thought I swing by to confirm” –– she looked over Joker’s shoulder to eye Bruce –– “and it seems to check out.” Joker smiled with malice. There was a pause, a beat in the already bitter conversation. “So…” she started. “What did you use?” Bruce found the blood filling his veins again, willing himself out of the chair. Her eyes were immediately attracted to his movement. She followed him curiously as Joker answered her question.

 

        “What makes you think I used anything?” Joker responded. Selina exchanged glances between Bruce and Joker. Then, she chuckled rather lowly, sending echoes through the funhouse. Bruce shivered at the sound. He didn’t like her laughter and, if thought a little longer on the topic, he’d realize he never had. It was distinctly feminine and, while that never annoyed him outright, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the scratchy vocal cords and fluctuating tones of Joker’s voice. It had always been his preference.

 

        “Yeah, because Bruce killing an entire gang is just” –– she used air quotes, whip still in hand –– ” _really_ in his nature.” Joker faked a smile, letting his annoyance show on his face. Selina looked back at Bruce with a strangeness that Bruce didn’t like. It was almost akin to the way Joker did. It unsettled him. Bruce decided it necessary to speak.

 

        “Leave,” he said with a low tone. Selina snapped her gaze back to him. She seemed confused, looking at the Joker in the corner of her eyes as Bruce continued. “Cats can’t land on their feet without their legs.” Joker snorted, grinning devilishly at Selina as she began to sense the atmosphere turning against her. Her confusion morphed into hesitation. Bruce smiled at her as she began to back away from the duo. Bruce waved as she ran off into the darkness; Joker cackled as she did. Bruce stared into the darkness with a gleeful expression. Joker did not speak as Bruce said his final words.

 

        “See you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this is late. I got caught up with something last minute but I hope this satisfies. Thank you!


	7. Directive Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the demonstration.

        “I'm somebody now…  Everybody likes me. Soon, millions of people will see me and they'll all like me.”

 

                                                                        - Daron Aronofsky,  _ Requiem For A Dream _

 

* * *

 

        Bruce and Joker were able to hide within the funhouse for a while. But, as fate had it, not for long enough. Outside, rain poured from the sky above and a gray overcast set the mood for their activities. A television set from the ’90s was set up in front of a dusty floral-patterned couch. They sat on the couch together, with Bruce allowing Joker’s head to rest in his lap. Joker watched the screen in anticipation. Bruce simply stared blankly. The area around them was filled with unfinished food and wrappers of all kinds spewed across the cement floor. They occupied the back room, a place for intended for the employees to rest and redo their makeup when they weren’t guiding tours through the funhouse.

 

        But the funhouse hadn’t been operational in a long time. Joker watched the nightly Gotham news with intense interest. He believed they would soon be on the news, both of their faces blasted against the television screen. Bruce had never liked television much; he had a fond disdain for the news in particular. Seedy reporters always got in the way of cases and tampered with evidence. They put exposure to villains and sensationalized them. Occasionally, Bruce would see the result of such poison filter into his job. One girl, around the age of thirteen, had jumped in front of him during a chase between himself and the Mad Hatter. Her face had been painted in white and her hair had been bleached blond. Her empathy for him was great and her movements sporadic. He had taken the girl home and informed her parents of the incident. A few months later, the Mad Hatter had kidnapped the very same girl. 

 

        She hadn’t made it out alive.  But, Bruce, even then, did not feel regretful as he should have. It was a sign of his morality becoming more and more pointless. Joker cackled in his lap as he continued to watch. He still thought the news pointless when word of mouth reigned supreme in Gotham. Only the crazies listened to the news. The news report seemed to buzz in and out of frequency, the antennas old and bent. Her voice seemed somewhat high pitched, the sound irritating Bruce. But, in almost a flash, she was interrupted by another newscaster and a red graphic. Joker jumped out of Bruce’s lap and clasped his hand around Bruce’s. 

 

_         “Breaking news coming in here… ummm, uh, it seems that…”  _ Joker smiled with a type of glee Bruce had come to love.  _ “Umm, it seems that the Joker and… Batman… are responsible for this latest murder of the superheroine, Spoiler. As reported here before on Channel 12… Batman has been revealed to be billionaire Bruce Wayne. His blood, as well as the infamous Joker’s fingerprints, have both been found and identified by the Gotham City Police Department this morning…”  _ Bruce smiled as the reporter continued.

 

_         Maybe it’s not so bad.  _

 

        “We’re on tv, baby!” Joker exclaimed. He watched the anchor and squeezed Bruce’s hand a little tighter. Bruce smiled harder. It seemed to brighten Joker up so, in turn, Bruce felt peppier. It was a good feeling. It was rather akin to the rush of blood he got when he took down criminals. It wasn’t killing… that was different. But it was still good. The light of the tv screen reflected in Joker’s pupils. At that moment, Bruce pondered whether or not the Joker liked the tv more than him. It wasn’t a valid question in his mind so he disregarded it and continued to watch with increasing interest. Joker picked up the remote and increased the volume.

 

_         “Theories as to why Batman’s change in morality seems to point to a toxin discovered at one of Joker’s many hideouts.”  _ Joker’s smile curled in disgust. His eyes become bulging with hatred.  _ “The toxin seems to be a mind-warper, popularized recently by villain Poison Ivy. Its effects can make the user easily suggestive and seemingly aware. Investigators are working on finding some kind of cure as we speak ––”  _ Joker turned off the television, seething. Bruce placed a hand on his face. Joker leaned into it, similar to the way a cat leaves their pheromones. Bruce stared at Joker as he refused to turn in his direction.

 

        “You know, I think we should go on tv, Batsy. What do you think?” Bruce removed his hand, got off the couch, and crawled on the floor to stop between Joker’s legs. Bruce nodded as he continued his planning. “Good, I think we should get to know this Hank Pollman. He seems so friendly. I bet he’ll  _ love  _ us!” Bruce placed his hands on his thighs. Joker cackled into the cool atmosphere. “But, but, but,” Joker said. “When should we do it?” Bruce raised his torso up to meet eye level with Joker. 

 

        “Tomorrow?” Bruce purposed. Joker smiled sinisterly. Bruce smiled back at him. 

 

        “Tomorrow!”

 

        The next day, Joker painted Bruce’s face as Bruce modified his mask to fit around it. Joker shaved Bruce and painted his suit symbol red. They promptly left the funhouse two hours before the news aired on the Bat-Cycle. Using one of Bruce’s secret city installations, they hide the bike in an abandoned building. Bruce carried the Joker with him and grappled building to building until they landed on the Gotham Broadcasting building. It was in the nicer part of the city (as nice as it got) and even had flowers in front of the place. Of course, Gotham citizens made sure it didn’t seem too nice. As they surveyed the building top, Bruce looked off the rooftop to find a stranger peeing in their colorful bushes of flowers. He smirked and turned back to Joker. Together, on the rooftop, they practiced Joker’s lines that he had memorized in his head. Once he was convinced Bruce had memorized it too, they bust open the roof entrance door. Bruce paused, pulling Joker close before they continued. He reeled his body close to his own. 

 

        “You look beautiful,” he whispered. Joker’s eyes widened slightly before he giggled.

 

        “I sure hope I do, I’m going to be on television!” His laughter was loud but quiet enough to not alert anyone to their presence. They continued down the staircase, Joker directing Bruce to the correct floor. Bruce started sneakily taking out the guards. Then, he used placed the bomb as instructed and informed the camera operators of their “choices”. Bruce then proceeded to the newsroom and sat across from Joker. Hank Pollman was tied up to the ceiling behind Joker by a rope around his neck, as was the meteorologist May Newall. Tape prevented them from screaming. The cameramen tremored as the countdown began, the tremor audible in their voices. Bruce and Joker took their positions. 

 

        “4… 3…. 2….”

 

        “Hello, Gothamites!” Joker belted out. The timing was slightly off but he continued without any pause for thought. “This is Channel 12 and I’m your host, Hank Hangman” –– Joker quickly turned and kicked the chair from within Hank –– “Tonight, it appears we have a very very special guest in the studio.” He seized violently, eventually succumbing to his permanent rest. “He’s big, he’s scary, and he’s right here!” The camera switched to reveal Bruce. His makeup was slightly different than before. Joker had done points, to mimic his mask’s previous design; his mask had changed as well. It no longer resembled his cowl at all. Instead, he had created a domino mask out of his cowl and used Joker’s small amount of spirit gum to stick it to his face. It didn’t particularly alarm him the likelihood of it falling off. His identity was already compromised. “It’s your darkest knight! Batman!” 

 

        “Hello, Hank,” Bruce spoke stiltedly. Behind him, May hung dead. Bruce didn’t like her particularly. She was too feisty and too rebellious against her fate. Bruce had learned rather recently he preferred his victims to give in. Stephanie Brown had been funnier for it. “Happy to be here.” Joker smiled at him and looked down at the news anchor scripts, as if it were their own. 

 

        “Lots of questions here but I think I narrow it down to just one,” Joker started. “What got you here? You’ve been rather elusive with your recent activities. Update us!” Bruce pretended to think for a moment

 

        “Well, I have found someone very special––” Bruce said, Joker interrupting with precise timing. It made up for the inaccuracy before tenfold in Bruce’s mind. 

 

        “Spill all the beans!”

 

        “I think we all have an idea who that might be.” Joker laughed and turned his attention back to the camera. 

 

        “Oh we sure do, don't we Gotham?” Dead air went by as Joker stared at the camera. He pulled out his revolver and shot one of the cameramen, the tripod jolting and falling to the ground. Bruce smiled as he watched Joker chase after the others. His laugh resonated through the broadcast. 

 

        Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, and Selina Kyle all sat around the flat screen tv in collective silence. They all heard the laughter, they all watched the broadcast. No one spoke and no one breathed. But, even silently, they all agreed. They all agreed that they needed to save Batman. They needed to save Bruce Wayne. But none of them were sure or convinced if he was even still there. There was a new Bruce and no one knew if the old Bruce, the one that seemed so quiet and calm, –– their father, guardian, (lover), and mentor –– was gone forever. The odds were not in their favor. 


	8. Directive Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the coup d'etat.

        “Do you know what the cure for the human condition is? Disease. Because that's the only way one could hope for a cure.”

 

                                                                                        - Gore Verbinski,  _ A Cure for Wellness _

 

* * *

 

 

        The air blew on Bruce’s back and chilled him as it did. Joker slept in the bed behind them. His hand had healed completely through the use of dissolvable sutures and gauze. They had, once again, changed location. This was another one of Joker’s hideouts, stolen from Mr. Freeze and redecorated. The temperature was on its highest setting but, regardless, it was always still chilly. Bruce was waiting for two things: Clark Kent and the Joker. He had stashed Kryptonite for their inevitable meeting. It was something necessary but also lethal. It would prove to be quite fun if Bruce were to get the upper hand. Any minute Bruce knew Clark would arrive. Long ago, he had placed a tracking device onto Superman’s cape. He knew Clark only washed it once a week and wasn’t that observant. He had watched him do it, without his knowledge. It was between the period of time after his first appearance and before their first meeting. Bruce sighed blissfully. All around him were walls of concrete and metal, adorned with sprayed on smiley faces and extended laughter. He smiled at it briefly.

 

        The Joker was getting ready at a vanity table. He was trying a new look for the special occasion and Bruce was patiently waiting to see it. He liked the small things about the Joker; the flares to his costumes and the wave to his hair. He liked  _ Joker _ and despite what everyone thought, that would not change because he found someone else. Word had spread of their intimacy but no one seemed to believe it yet. Mostly shotty tabloids reported those little details. Bruce sat in the chair, the coil of rope in his other hand. The chair was strategically placed in an offshoot room from the main laboratory area. It acted as a freezer of sorts, chilling the materials that Joker had never removed from the hideout. It was underneath an abandoned ice cream parlor, something that had intrigued Joker enough to steal it from Freeze in the first place. 

 

        When Joker walked out, his outfit was what caught Bruce’s eye first. He wore a purple dress with a large pop collar that seemed sewn on. The inseam on the pop collar was a lilac as opposed to the rest of the fabric’s violet coloring. Around Joker’s stomach was a large fuschia belt with a golden buckle. His legs were highlighted by fishnet tights and orange flipflops. His fingernails were painted black and on top of his head was a straw hat and red sunglasses. He giggled as he fanned himself dramatically. Draped across his shoulders, Joker had an orange feather boa. When Joker spotted Bruce, he comically widens his eyes.

 

        “Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Joker laughed and Bruce followed. He pulled off the sunglasses and discarded them onto the floor behind him. He strutted towards Bruce with a distinct sway of his hips. Bruce smiled and held back a laugh at the extra effort Joker was providing. He eventually came to sit in his lap as they waited for Superman to arrive. Bruce took note of the makeup on closer inspection; His eyes were lined in black, as always, but he went lighter on the periwinkle eyeshadow. But, unusually, Joker wore false lashes, significantly larger than his own. His lips were a deep maroon color and Bruce predicted that one kiss would smear and stain them against his white skin; it tempted him but he did not give in. He needed to look perfect for guests. “Hey Batsy,” Joker whispered. He began to tie the ropes in rapid succession. The action alone made Bruce mad with want. He traced his pointer finger against Bruce’s chest, stopping at the marked bat symbol. “You ready?” He tied the last knot with a flourish.

 

        “Always,” Bruce replied. Joker smiled, giving Bruce Eskimo kisses. They remained like that for a moment before Bruce spoke again. “He’s close. Go get in position, baby.” Joker raised an eyebrow.

 

        “Baby?” Joker exclaimed. “I thought you’d never ––”

 

        “Joker,” warned Bruce. Joker rolled his eyes but followed Bruce’s orders. This time, everything had been orchestrated by Bruce himself. Joker, of course, gave him a couple of pointers but overall, Bruce knew what Clark wanted to see; he wanted to see him broken and beaten to a pulp in a chair, confirming that everything was against his will. Clark wanted his fears to be proven wrong. Bruce couldn’t wait to shatter all that. He had even instructed Joker on how to act. It was going to be a very special occasion. Bruce began the show before Clark even saw him. He winked at Joker, rearranging himself to get in position. Then, Bruce thought of his lines. “Clark… come on.” The tracker, which alerted him to how close or far Clark was from him, popped softly against his skin. It was subtle and it was designed to be subtle.

 

        The Man of Steel landed in front of them, Joker picking at his nails while Bruce slouched in his chair. He hung his neck down low, as to convey exhaustion to the highest degree. Clark’s vibrant colored suit almost matched with Joker’s. In a way, they seemed to contrast each other. That comparison was only given more credence when Clark seemed at a standstill. He did not approach Bruce but he did not acknowledge the Joker either. He seemed stuck between what he should do first. Bruce repeats his first lines. 

        “Clark…” croaked Bruce. It snapped Clark’s attention to Bruce. He seemed to rush over, Bruce’s eyes narrowed just enough to be able to see it. Bruce had spent hours with the Joker getting the look just right. Gaunt under the eyes, pale and nauseous, and the part too. Everything seemed to be going according to plan. Joker laughed shortly after, revealing himself like he usually did. This laugh was loud and echoing in the lair. Bruce could tell –– just barely –– that the technique was working. Clark seemed afraid and Bruce knew that this would make him easier to take down. Joker’s feather boa now rested around his back and in the crook of both of his forearms. 

 

        “Joker,” Clark spoke. “What have you done?” The question was almost laughable to Bruce, which was good enough for Joker who began to cackle. Clark was not nearly as amused. He grabbed Joker in a flash and hoisted him by the neck into the air. Bruce was no longer amused. Joker choked slightly, still managing to laugh at the situation. He shuddered at the scene. He needed to get his attention and remain neutral in the situation; he needed to remain surprising. “You’re sick.” Joker only continued to laugh. Bruce began to laugh along with him, capturing Clark’s attention back to him. He loosened his grip on Joker’s neck and descended from his hovering position. He walked to Bruce, dropping Joker’s body on the ground. His gaze was not harmful, which was in Bruce’s favor. He approached him cautiously, as is inspecting a precarious animal at the zoo. “Bruce,” he whispered. “You must be Bruce.” It was as if he was trying to convince himself.

 

        “Clark…” he groaned out once more. “W-what’s happening?” He added a sense of naivety to his tone; it struck all the right cords within Clark. He seemed to double down to reality. His eyes widened and his breath hitched all the same. He allowed his emotions to become the better half of him. It was Clark’s one weakness he exploited. For a while, he had suspected that Clark was attracted to him. It was subtle though and he never commented on it explicitly. Bruce could tell from the extended stares from afar and the nervous laughter he had when he talked with him. They were all  _ normal _ traits. But, Bruce was anything other than normal. He did not remember what he used to think about Clark before the Joker’s death. It wasn’t important. What was seemed to be staring right in front of him. Joker, however, was not distracted.

 

        He crept silently behind Clark, with a dagger of pure Kryptonite in his right hand and a hand buzzer in the other. Joker smiled gleefully as Bruce continued to distract Clark. Clark stared into his eyes, looking for something that Bruce no longer seemed to have. It was humanity. Joker gripped the hilt of the Kryptonite blade with pleasure. Bruce opened his eyes gradually. The action seemed to still Clark. He leaned towards him, a noticeable tremor in his hand as he thumbed Bruce’s chin. His stance grew weaker as the blade came closer into his proximity. He didn’t seem shocked or hurt. He didn’t cry out for help as Bruce had imagined he would. He just looked cold. It was as if life had already left his body. He smiled before Joker closed in.

 

        “I love you, Bruce.” Joker stabbed the Kryptonite dagger through his heart, blood dripping from the penetration. Joker cackled at the top of his lungs and repeated the motion. But, Bruce didn’t laugh as easily. He thought of Clark’s last words with a frightening realization that he did not enjoy at all. It seemed, in another world or version of his own, Clark would the one to be by his side. It didn’t disturb him because he wanted it; it disturbed him because the very notion appalled him. He choked on his last breath staring up at the frosty ceiling with a smile on his bloody lips. Joker rushed to untie Bruce from the chair. Their performance had not gone to plan, which was somewhat of a disappointment to Bruce. It was harder than anticipated to predict how the enemy would react on an emotional level. He would accept pointers from Joker once they burned Clark’s body. Joker took his cape as a trophy, waving it around on his bare shoulders and leaving the feather boa behind.

 

        Bruce picked up Clark’s body and took it upstairs and outside of the ice cream parlor. In a dumpster, not too far away, he threw bits of Kryptonite into the dumpster. Then, he placed Clark’s body among the trash and poured the gasoline. From within his utility belt, he pulled a lighter and threw it on his body. When he arrived back at the lair, he knew it was time for them to leave. Bruce stared at the puddle of blood on the cement floor;  he swore that if he stared a little longer, he could see Clark, Stephanie, and Tim staring back at him from within its reflective property. If he stared even longer, he could see someone else there too. He mopped up the blood in a fit of silent obsession. Bruce and the Joker left shortly after, the Joker following him to their next location. 

 

        The Justice League sit around their table with two empty chairs. Diana Prince stared into the head chair with dark thoughts on her mind. She was a warrior but she was not a killer. J’onn J’onzz sat next to her, along with Barry Allen and Hal Jordan. They all lacked words or thoughts. Only J’onn could think coherently and even so, could not think of anything to say. The Watchtower was empty and it felt as if a cold breeze passed through each of the members. There were memories here, real and vivid. But all of them seemed tainted now. Diana stared at the chair, thinking of one of her mother’s wisest lessons:

 

_         The past only hurts when it is gone. _


	9. Off Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the wife.

        “ Some places are like people: some shine and some don't.”

 

                                                - Stanley Kubrick,  _ The Shining _

 

* * *

 

        Joker had another plan. It was taking longer than expected to work out all of the details to it but Bruce knew that they had all the time in the world; if they were successful, the  _ art  _ they would display would never be forgotten. In all truthfulness, Bruce had longed to burn down Arkham Asylum and all the people inside it long ago. In those days of quiet trepidation and perpetual loneliness, Bruce found himself always gravitated towards the Joker’s cell, with little knowledge as to why. It was only after a decade of repression did Bruce finally see that he was truly lost. He would stare at him through the cell; sometimes Joker would try to talk and other times he stayed silent, simply staring back at Bruce with intensity. On those days, where the Joker chose not to speak (or even laugh), Bruce would stare and imagine all the things he could never do with him. It was a silent acknowledgment and that, at the time, was the only way he could communicate it. Joker seemed to understand enough so Bruce never stopped repeating the action. Dick had never questioned it as he always seemed a little preoccupied with his social life and academics; Jason was not the same. He had been in and out of school, emotionally vulnerable from the moment he met him.

 

        Jason had a sense that Bruce feared constantly. Even when he died, the sense of being watched never left him.  Bruce never liked being watched. It was something he hated, ever since he was a child. But now, all those fears seemed far behind him. Joker had thrust them both into the spotlight. Bruce could finally see himself in a new light. The Joker could bring that out in him and he loved that. Joker could  _ do  _ things to Bruce that no one else could. Joker wrote on a piece of scratch paper they scavenged out of a desk. Their new hideout was in a run-down elementary school in the most crime-ridden district of Gotham. It had fallen corrupt easily, donations being made from the Maroni and Falcone families. When they had killed each other off, the school was abandoned and consequently, the kids went to the nicer Wayne-funded elementary school on the north side of the city. There was a dusty chalkboard in front of them, Joker gradually filling the chalkboard with lists. It was interesting for Bruce to watch.

 

        He wrote on the board with white chalk. It matched his skin to a strange degree. Bruce watched as Joker went through the lists one by one, documenting each item after the other; he was listing the supplies they needed and the cost of each. Bruce insisted that listing the cost was unnecessary but Joker laughed and continued writing. It was mesmerizing to watch him write. If Bruce closed his eyes, he could see Joker teaching a class full of eager students. He could see himself standing at the back of the class, monitoring it. He could see himself as a principal with a nice reputation and a friendly smile. But that all faded as soon as it came. Bruce briefly wondered where the thought could have come from. When Joker finally stopped, he turned to Bruce with a flourish of his wrist and handed him the chalk. Bruce smiled.

 

        They headed to Arkham the very next morning. Joker dressed in a plumber’s outfit, with messy eye mascara and eyeshadow. They rode on Bruce’s motorcycle. It had been months, close to a year that they had spent together. Bruce could not feel the time as he had once before. Joker made reality seem effortlessly ignored. He did not dwell on when his life would be taken. That was no longer for him to care about. He did not dwell on the trivial. That was no longer important. Joker carried a rusty pistol and a sack of items, as did Bruce, clutching it tightly against the wind. Bruce smiled with eagerness. He stopped outside Arkham’s grand gates. He watched quietly as Joker snuck behind the gates with the sack. He paused for a moment, turning to Bruce and motioning for him to come towards him. Joker kissed him with a force that Bruce did not expect. He smiled then backed away backward before waving and turning to enter. Bruce took the sack and rode to the back of Arkham. He grappled to the top of its stone architecture. 

 

        He had never looked upon it much. The building he had intimate knowledge of but the history he had always ignored. He didn’t like the story and neither did Joker. Within its walls, Bruce smiled, held everyone who could harm them. They were all going to die. It was very simple but very calculated. Joker had perfected the toxin in record time before they had left. Bruce placed the gas dispensers within the inside of the windows; they stuck to the colored panes by the putty Bruce had cultivated in the cave long ago. He watched with little investment as the timer ticked off, seemingly distracted by the rain that seemed to pour upon his body. He was cold but he did not shiver. He let himself inside through one of the rotating window panes. He saw the pink and orange tones of sky depicted in them. He quirked an eyebrow at it. A white angel descended from the sky while the devil clawed at the bottom. Bruce smiled and continued down the tower stairs with a bit of a hurry in his step. 

 

        “Batman,” a voice called. It was Freeze, in his specialized cell. Bruce grimaced. “I have heard many things about your activities…” His voice sounded distant, as always. He did not face Bruce in his cell. His back was to him, his orange jumpsuit an eyesore in the frosty cell. Ice threatened to cover up his presence. Bruce did not speak to Freeze. But, for whatever reason, he seemed compelled to stay in place. “I remember… long ago, you said something to me once.” Bruce, despite himself, listened intently. “My wife, Nora” –– he paused, an inflection in his voice that Bruce caught onto immediately –– “She was so beautiful, wasn’t she?” Bruce kept quiet. “When she died –– when you  _ killed  _ her –– you had confronted me. You told me something that always seemed to stick in my mind. Do you remember what it was?” Bruce didn’t answer but Freeze simply continued. “You said, ‘Love will never be worth the price’...” He paused once more, this time for effect. Bruce considered his words with an unknown emotion. “But,” he started again. “Is it worth the aftermath?” Bruce moved past him in anger, placing one of the few bombs he possessed on his cell door. Freeze heard the action but made no action to move.

 

        He descended the staircase to the main office floor for the psychologists. Within the time, the green gas that drifted around the room was seen in wafts. Bruce listened for the familiar laugh and followed it through the hazy mist. His anger died out with his growing worry. They had planned a strict location and Joker was missing. Bruce began to panic; his motions became more sporadic as he stepped over piles of dead bodies. Each of their corpses had a wide smile and pale complexion. He searched and searched until he was screaming. Only then, could he hear that laugh. It came from the floor down, the one he had not checked. He rushed down with his bulky body and raced to the source of the sound. When he arrived, he stood quietly in place. 

 

        Jason and Dick stood side by side, with a crowd of Bruce’s remaining family at their side. Barbara and Cassandra stood beside them, Damian hidden behind them. Selina was there, too strangely detached from the rest of them. Joker was on his knees, blood dripping from a newly busted lip. Jason held him there, by his hair, with a gun pointed at his cranial. Bruce cringed at the very sight of it. He waited until they moved, until they spoke. When they all seemed collectively silent, Bruce removed his mask and cape. He stared at them all, individually, one after the other. Jason wore his red helmet. The white soulless eyes stared back at Bruce and he smiled cockily. He knew the kind of men who wore masks when the other revealed their true selves; Bruce knows them to be afraid. Bruce will revel in his fear.

 

        “Hello… everyone,” stated Bruce. They all blinked but said nothing. They seemed chilled by his voice. Bruce briefly wondered if he sounded as different as he felt. “It seems we’ve finally met up again, without any––”

 

        “Shut your mouth,” Dick spoke. Jason ground the gun harder against Joker’s skull. “Drop your weapons.” Bruce snorted but looked around with a strange hesitation filling him. They all seemed prepared to take him and Bruce knew, even in all his strength, he had not prepared for their attack. Perhaps separately he could, but taking them all on now would be a fool’s choice. Bruce decided on the ladder. He dropped his sack and disarmed himself. He rid himself of all the shivs and Batarangs and dropped his utility belt rather quickly. Jason and Dick exchanged a glance before they turned back to him. “On your knees, hands raised and behind your back.” Bruce rumbled with laughter but did as instructed. He motioned for Barbara and Cassandra and they both rushed over to him with cuffs. Selina stared at Bruce as they cuffed him, tightly gripping her whip that hung through one of her belt loops. Bruce did not flinch at their tightness around his wrists. He simply stared at Joker and he returned the gaze with a faint smile. Bruce smiled at well and Cassandra put the napkin to his nose and held it there. Joker received the same treatment, collapsing to the ground faster than Bruce did. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell to the ground. 

 

        Dick watched with a strange feeling within him. Damian seemed to watch in pure horror. Jason brushed his fingers against his own. The action alerted Dick and he turned to him, waiting for him to speak. Selina watched the scene bitterly. Her gaze on the body’s limp body was piercing, now that he could no longer return his hateful gaze. The whole room remained tense. The air between them was silent and overwhelming all the same. Jason seemed to maintain all their gazes in the room. The happy dead on the floor all seemed vacant. Their presence was not felt in the cold reality of their world. With this new feeling, all accepted amongst them, Jason finally found the words he needed. They came to him quickly but, not without thought. He holstered his gun and removed his helmet. His ginger roots were growing in and his black hair was patchy in comparison. He looked at Dick.

 

        “This is not our call anymore. It may seem like it is… but the dead that lay here will not forget their killer. Nor will Stephanie or Tim…” The room nodded in his direction, all except Selina. “Now… let's get going.” The blood that stained the Arkham floor stayed there, with no one to stop rid the stench. 


	10. Compromised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the signs.

        “ I don't know if what is happening is fair, but it's the only thing I can think of that's close to justice.”

 

                                                                                - Yorgos Lanthimos,  _ The Killing of a Sacred Deer _

 

* * *

 

        When he awoke, his mind was groggy from the drug. It was a tweaked version of a sedative he had in the cave. He would not be surprised if one of his children knew how to create it. All around his, colors blurred figures and forms into blobs of abstract shapes, undiscernable from the rest. He waited until his vision sharpened everything into focus. It took less time than he had imagined it would. He waited until he could speak to lift his head from its hanging position. His hands were chained to the wall behind him and his knees remained on the floor, his feet shackled as well. The wall was made of stone brick, appearing dusty to the touch. His arms were strung at an uncomfortable angle above him, an ache threatening to spur within Bruce’s muscles. He was in a cell of some kind. But it was not the police department cells that he knew so well. Nor was it any kind of cell that he had ever seen before. It seemed tailor-made to annoy him. He slowly looked behind the clean metal bars. Jason, without his helmet this time, stared back at him. Bruce smiled widely in his direction. He was only met with a blank expression.

 

        “Bruce,” Jason said. “I’ve been” –– he stopped himself –– “ _ We’ve  _ been planning for this moment.” Jason's face was harder for Bruce to read; he showed little emotion in his voice, body language, and tone. It was something that, when Jason was younger, was the best at learning. He could cloak everything from anyone. It was a skill that Bruce did envy from time to time. But, those days of hiding himself were over. All he could think now was how sad he felt for the boy; all he could think was how he pitied him. It was a thankless and draining skill but, out of all his apprentices, Jason was the best at it. 

 

        “Oh, have you?” Bruce implored cheekily. Jason did not react. He simply waited until he was sure Bruce would not interrupt again.

 

        “We’ve been planning how we would kill you.” The sentence seemed to sting more than Bruce had anticipated. In all truth and honesty, the signs were all in place. No one else was in the room but Jason; Jason was the only one to kill. But, Bruce assured himself that that was not how this would end. Knowing the angry side of Jason made him more vulnerable. He, in turn for his tactical methods, let his anger control him. They would agree on a punishment, perhaps a series of them, and Jason (with the others watching) would perform them. It was a befitting death for Bruce so he did not utter another word. He waited until Jason spoke again. “We decided that it would not be enough.” Bruce silently murmured victory under his breath. His children, as always, were predictable. That would always be their downfall. “But we do know how to kill the last thing you hold any humanity for.” Bruce rose his head as Jason spoke. He knew where this was going. “It will be enough… after that, you will be next.” Jason promptly left after, pausing to stand at the doorway for a short moment. His hesitation was not lost on Bruce. 

 

        Bruce pondered on his words. They could only mean one conclusion. Joker was going to die. It snapped something in Bruce, a rage overcoming him. But the rage was not portrayed in actions or struggle. It was all in his mind. On the outside, he appeared submissive to his situation; on the inside, he imagined all their bloody corpses burning. They would not die with smiles. They would die without faces. He would make sure of it. He waited in the cell for a long time, unsure of when Jason or any of  _ them  _ would return. He was sure that Dick would have greeted him. But Dick had cared about Bruce, in some sort of manner. He had relied on him. But Bruce knew better. He knew he liked their distance and preferred to be distant from him. Bruce wished that fact had remained true. The area they had him in was soundproof, so he could not hear anything beyond the stone room. The cement room taunted Bruce more than anything. But the most infuriating thing of all was the safety pin placed on the ground in front of him. If he were to venture a guess as to who placed it there, he would think Damian. He was still young, naive… and  _ impressionable _ . Bruce would use that to his advantage as well.

 

        The pin was simply too far away for his reach. His muscles ached for release. It was then that the door swung open once more. It was not who Bruce expected it to be. Cassandra came into the room, with her cowl draped against her back and her eyes downcast. He eyed her cautiously as she entered. Her posture was stick-straight, as if on alert. Bruce cocked his head slightly as she came to stand at the door to his cell. Her dark eyes finally rested on his and her face was just as unreadable as Jason’s. He held her gaze until she blinked. He did not blink. She never quite mastered her ability to talk. When Bruce had found her, he had focused on her speech too much. It had weakened her abilities; in hindsight, Bruce was proud of his accomplishment. She never fully retained the skills she had before. But despite both of these facts, Cassandra was still dangerous to be around. She was manageable, but certainly not when chained to a wall. Then, Barbara entered shortly after. She seemed to be rushed, as if she had been  _ looking  _ for Cassandra. She stumbled slightly, through the door and to Barbara’s side. Damian, Dick, and Jason followed after her. Then, almost like a cat, Selina silently slipped in last. Her face showed the most emotion in the room. Bruce eyed her curiously before turning his head back to the scene in front of him. Barbara took Cassandra’s hand, with no acknowledgment of Bruce.

 

        “We need to leave,” she said. “Now.” Barbara seemed genuinely disturbed. Her voice had a tremor and her movements were frantic. Cassandra simply continued to stare at Bruce. As she stared, tears filled her eyes and rolled down her face. Strands of her black hair, which seemed longer than Bruce remembered, fell in front of her face. She silently wiped them from her face. Dick and Jason seemed filled with tension at the scene. Damian seemed to hide between them, despite him entering in front of them initially. She began to talk, but silently; she pointed at her chest. Bruce had taught her sign language first as it was easiest. It was something she had already known from her father, David Cain. It had been a good starting point. She then used her fist and rotated it in a semi-circle motion once. She simply mouthed the words she wanted to say. 

 

        “I’m sorry.” Selina watched her intently, with a harrowing expression on her face. Bruce didn’t like it. All of the things it could mean, only one stuck to Bruce’s mind. He noticed the drops of red life on her gloves. They were so subtle but Bruce hated it. He could feel the anger burn within his bones. More tears flowed from her. She kept signing to Bruce and the room seemed to remain dead quiet for them. The tremble within her became more and more audible in the silence. She pointed to herself once more, crossed her arms, and finally pointed back at Bruce. “I love you.” Selina gasped. Cassandra’s eyes drifted down to his hands. He did not sign it back. So, with her right hand, smearing droplets of blood against her skin, she wiped away her last tear and let Barbara pull her to the door. They walked past Dick, Damian, and Jason. Selina did not stand in their way. Barbara paused to stare at Dick for a moment. Cassandra did not pause, walking past the door. It slid shut behind her. 

 

        “I don’t even know you anymore,” Barbara whispered. Dick had no reaction to her. Then, she crouched down to Damian and reached out for his hand. He stared at her hand and looked back up at her.  “Come on, buddy. Don’t do this to me.” He held his head in place defiantly. She sighed and stood up with a forced smile. “You know my number, then. Please” –– she turned to the door, her neck tilted in his direction –– “Call if you need to.” She walked and the door closed behind her. Bruce clutched his fingers into fists, staring at the ground. The group all looked in his direction. The hanging lightbulb, which Bruce hadn’t even noticed until now, seemed to swing to the rhythm of the uncertainty that filled the room. He zoned in on it and the light seemed to flicker too. Bruce watched the bulb intently as Jason and Dick uncuffed him. When it flickered the last time, Bruce was sure of who stood in front of him. They put him in handcuffs, the same ones as before. 

 

        They dragged him from the room and in front of him, the chair stood with Joker’s body. He was limp, as  _ expected _ . Bruce couldn’t muster words or actions. His own body felt dead. His arms and legs felt limp and his vision was blurred by tears. Dick and Jason dragged him to a chair that faced Joker’s, merely a few feet apart from each other. Selina followed Dick and Jason with a sickly expression. Damian stayed between Jason and Dick with wide eyes. Joker's head hung like a weight, a few strands of his green hair falling in front of his white face. At his gut area, there was a wound across his belly; it was drenched in black blood. But what caught Bruce’s eye the most was the  _ way _ his head hung. This time, Bruce knew, he would not return. Next to Joker’s body was his hallucination. His face was white and his suit was purple with bright orange suspenders and a toxic green floral shirt underneath. It was one of his stranger outfits. He cackled and Bruce shook with the unnatural sound. Dick stared at him with an intensity that Bruce could not notice if he tried. Jason stared at Dick and rested a shoulder on his hand when he finished tying him to the chair. Bruce’s surroundings were familiar again. It was one of Jason’s mob seizes. It was a distributing center, with cement floors and plenty of doors. None of which, Bruce would see.  He stared at the body in front of him but he could not feel the anger he once did. All he could feel was fear.

 

        “Bruce,” Dick spoke. Dick stood behind Bruce, towering over him at the moment with the unshaken tone of his voice. “Who are you?” Then, there was a flash of images in Bruce’s mind. His mother, his father, Alfred, and the murder. He saw it all but nothing seemed to be the same as it once was. Everything that seemed so clear and drawn out was all returning to him in a different light. The fear consumed him as he watched Joker transform in front of him. His eyes filled with more tears. Jason seemed to stare on with a conflicted expression. The question didn’t process until he could find his words; his words were not easily found. The silence rang in his ears louder than it ever had in his life. But now, with the quiet, he could hear and see all the things that he never could before. It scared him more than anything. It scared him more than death.

 

        “I-I would tell you,” Bruce spoke softly. “If I-I could remember everything.” They both stared on with distant expressions, Dick’s the most distant of the two. Damian did everything he could to avoid his father’s form. Selina remained dead silent, a quiet surveyor of the scene at hand. Bruce stared at the dead body and the  _ new  _ Joker with grief and horror. Pieces, that had never been fragmented before, broke and reformed within him. He looked around the room to find another lightbulb. Within its chambers, an all too familiar figure stared down at him and watched. He smiled at Bruce and Bruce looked to the floor. “Just- just give a minute… I need to sort it out.” Then, as his eyes returned to  _ hers _ , he began to laugh.


	11. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hesitation.

        “ Sometimes you need to do something bad to stop you from doing something worse.”

 

                                                                               - Park Chan-wook,  _ Stoker _

 

* * *

 

        Bruce was small and thin, rather like his mother. When he was born, by C-section, his mother had cradled him in his arms like an anchor to life itself. Thomas would think, silently but never aloud, that her tight hold on him had left an imprint of herself onto him. Bruce was around eight years old and his ninth birthday was fast approaching. Thomas didn’t have much time to fuss with Martha as he once had. His career as a surgeon gave him phenomenal success and loads of money to boot. But, between the long work hours and stressful procedures, Thomas found solace at the hospital in a way he never could at home. Thomas’ father had warned him the moment he had laid eyes on Martha Arkham. She was a dangerous and scandalous woman to marry, which Thomas was not ignorant of. What he didn’t know was that all those rumors about her family –– her  _ blood _ –– were true. On the outside, she seemed like the perfect person. She was kind, caring, forgiving, and regularly gave her money to charity. They bonded over their family that had all seemingly died simultaneously. But, as soon as she had Bruce, it had seemed her other side had revealed itself.

 

        When she sought to Bruce’s needs, they often purposely excluded him. At the beginning of their marriage, Martha had explained many things to Thomas about her family’s history. Her grandfather had taught her at a young age to prepare for having children and that birthing an heir to the asylum in their name was important. He remembered a story she had told him about one of her great ancestors who had founded the asylum. He too had gone mad and murdered his mother, wife, and child. It had concerned him but Martha did not seem like any of the stories he had heard. She seemed like any other regular woman, trying to wear her name above its legacy. He respected that in her. She wore it proudly and, when she took his name, she wore the Wayne name just as proudly. It was a testament to her strength as a person. But, with the arrival of Bruce, their relationship had fallen on hard times. They struggled with each other for eight years, never finding to agree on anything but to argue. 

 

        The topics were never of most importance. Nor had Bruce been a problem child. Most of it was simply because Martha was unsatisfied or too paranoid. Her fits seemed to last weeks and when they did, she refused to speak to him. Bruce, in turn, had a warped version of Thomas in his mind. Thomas knew this and had fought very hard to prevent it. But, when he could no longer fight against it, he let Martha buy whatever Bruce wanted. If he could trace it back, Thomas would have pointed to a conversation they had when Bruce was only a year old. They had sat on the luxury sofa of the Wayne Mansion. She fed Bruce from her nipple as Thomas read a fantasy novel. In the kitchen, their new butler prepared dinner for them. Martha had stared at him until he put down the book to focus his attention on her. She snorted with displeasure at the gesture and hastily put her breast back into the nursing bra cup. She snapped up the strap as he walked over to her. He bent his knees in front of her, keeping her on the couch (much to her chagrin). 

 

_         “Darling, what is the matter.”  _

 

_         “The doctor says Bruce isn’t meeting the milestones.” _

 

        That fact had perturbed Thomas, but it had practically ruined Martha. At every turn, she took him for check-up’s and when she wasn’t doing that, she would pester Thomas about something mundane within the old house that needed to be renovated. It had been her idea to homeschool Bruce; Thomas had been brashly against the idea. Bruce often stayed within the confines of the ground, rarely ever talking to other boys his age or even any other children at all. He was severely antisocial as a result, rarely ever even talking to Martha or himself. When he did his school work, Martha hovered over him. The boy was very fearful as well, easily shaken by things he could not understand. She liked to talk to him while he did his work as well, even while he read. Thomas, when he was sick or taking work off, would observe this behavior in disgust. When she watched over him, Thomas could see Bruce’s pencil shake in his hand. He could not figure why until a few months later, shortly after spring turned into summer. 

 

        He had caught Martha in his bedroom, standing over him. He watched as she slowly tucked him into bed and began to laugh. It was a bizarre sight to witness but Thomas was sure that Bruce, who was already easily frightened to begin with, didn’t need this behavior presented to him. He had taken her by the arm to the hallway, wishing Bruce a quick goodnight before he shut the door. Martha stared at him blankly as he questioned her. She did not speak a word and, yet again, Thomas had hit another roadblock. Martha was unresponsive, as if caught in a neverending trance. Over time, as he saw her stand and laugh over Bruce, again and again, he came to only one solution in his mind. Martha needed help that Thomas simply could not give. 

 

        When he sent her to Arkham, her trip was short. They reported she was ready to leave only a week into therapy. Thomas had questioned the report and records thoroughly before he left with her in the car. When she had arrived at the Mansion, her eyes had lit up with  _ something _ . It was a rare moment for Thomas to catch. So, he enjoyed it while it lasted. She had hugged Bruce so long he had begged her to let go. While Martha had gone, he took time off work to spend time with Bruce. He felt as if he didn’t even know his own son. He seemed to like movies and detective stories. He was more of a scholar than an athlete, which made Thomas hopeful that he would become a surgeon as well. Bruce never acted coldly towards him as Thomas had expected. But, he had confided in him of Martha’s subtle teachings. She most often stressed to Bruce to never trust anyone, no matter how close they were. 

 

        A few days later, Thomas had asked Bruce what he wanted for his birthday. Surprisingly, he had asked to go to a movie. It would be an inexpensive endeavor, for which Thomas smiled. He had hoped to raise a son without spoiling him and it seemed he had succeeded so far. Martha, however, planned; she had planned since the day of her entry at Arkham. When she had arrived, the other inmates had pestered her to no end. Her orange jumpsuit sported blood stains from prison fights that she became involved in (entirely involuntarily). She found her father’s gun and loaded its bullets repetitiously. Martha Arkham Wayne had seen this moment coming from the day she met Thomas. Her grandfather had warned her of people’s true intentions. She had been naive to it and she had paid the price. Martha was no longer naive. Revenge would be sweet. She cared for Bruce because she knew that he would follow her no matter the circumstances. She had a firm grip on his ideologies and his moral compass; he was still a child, young and  _ impressionable _ . 

 

        She had informed Alfred of her decision; he followed her orders without question. He had been a friend of her family for years, past even his own life. The Arkham and Pennyworth were closely knitted together and Martha, like many in her family, used it to her own advantage. Alfred knew, at a point, he would have to perform some sort of task like this. What he didn’t believe was the effect she had on the child. To watch her brainwashing techniques fail scared Alfred. He knew that they would not fail forever. Certainly not after what she had planned. But Alfred too had planned if things went too awry. They waited until it was the matinee times to take him, by his own request. When they walked into the theater, the daylight shone brightly on Martha’s pearls. They were reflective and Bruce had mentioned liking them before. Martha found it a bit strange but made no action to punish him for it. There was nothing wrong with being odd. If Martha had learned anything from her family, being odd was better than being normal. She had hindsight that no one else possessed. 

        Thomas and Martha had dressed up for the occasion; he wore a nice suit. His hair was slicked back with gel and his face was freshly shaven. Martha searched through her closet to find the right outfit. She thumbed through the many hangers. All of her clothes were of expensive fabric and design. She desired them that way and Thomas provided. It was one of the few things she still liked about her husband. She eyed a fuschia dress out of the corner of her eye. Martha threw it on and stared in the mirror for a moment. She watched her body in it and she cringed. She put on a vibrant red lipstick and went to the hairstylist early that morning. She lined her eyes and put on her mascara, Bruce watching intently from behind her. She took to her necklaces and put on her favorite pair of pearls. Her neck glistened with them. Martha spotted Bruce in the mirror and turned to him with a smile. Bruce cowered slightly and she kneeled down to him and raised her hands to his face. She pinched his cheeks into a smile and smiled once more. 

 

 _“Do you like Mommy’s makeup?”_ she asked quietly. Bruce nodded sheepishly. Martha continued to smile. _“That’s alright, Bruce. There’s nothing wrong with that.”_ Then, together, they walked to the car and Alfred drove them to the theater. The movie was The Legend of Zorro and Bruce seemed to enjoy it. Martha smiled down at him and went to the lobby to use the bathroom. As she did, she instead exited the theater and walked to the alleyway. Thomas stared at her empty seat with an ominous feeling filling him; he ignored the feeling and smiled faintly at Bruce. Martha met in the dirty alleyway with her hired gun. He had yellowish teeth, five o’clock shadow, and a pale complexion. He was in his mid-forties, with a receding hairline and nasty green eyes. He looked the part and Martha struggled to keep up her composure. She paid upfront, much to the killer’s pleasure. Martha, partly disgusted with his greasiness and partly because of the sniffing he seemed to do more frequently than she liked, rushed back to the theater within the minute. When she sat back down, Thomas looked at her curiously. Together, the family sat watching the screen and the story it told. Martha rather disliked the movie while Bruce and Thomas seemed to enjoy it. All that mattered was that Bruce enjoyed it. When the last ten minutes of the movie came along, Martha could feel her mind become scattered. Her thoughts felt more and more fragmented and she turned to Bruce to watch his expression. He was smiling up at the projector screen. 

 

        When they left together, Martha began to smile to herself. Thomas smiled back at her. When her smile met him, it seemed to spark something within Thomas that he had not felt for a while: regret. He had never meant to put her in Arkham. He had been desperate and now he realized that his decision had been callous. She never talked to him alone and she certainly never talked to him about her experience there. He had asked, time and time again, since her return. But, she simply stayed quiet and only described it vaguely. There was nothing he could do to get it out of her. He briefly wondered whether their methods were humane over at the asylum. He has asked for her files but they denied to him. He smiled back at Martha and they continued down the wide alleyway. It was horribly disgusting, the trash reeking and the cigarette buds littered everywhere. Puke and a pair of pantyhose were towards the side. Thomas shielded Bruce’s eyes. 

 

        They were stopped. The man, with yellow teeth and ugly eyes, met them. Martha smiled at him. Bruce looked up at his mother in confusion. Thomas eyed the man with hesitation. He pulled his gun from within his coat pocket and Bruce’s eyes widened. Thomas moved Bruce behind him and then, all at once, Martha began to hum. It was a subtle tune, but it was recognizable to Thomas. It had been their wedding night song. It was Ella Fitzgerald’s Cheek to Cheek. On that night, he had taken her to a gazebo before their wedding and, in the early sunlight, caught a glimpse of her dress. His face turned from fear to realization. Bruce stared at his father fearfully. The man did not pause at the moment; his gun produced a deadly bullet and Thomas fell to the ground with a thud. Bruce shrieked at the scene, rushing to his side. Martha pulled him by the arm before he could. Thomas’ blood bled through the expensive heathered gray suit. He looked up at Martha but turned to Bruce, blood leaking from his mouth and dripping down his face. He motioned for Bruce and struggled against his mother’s grip. He smiled with the blood. 

 

 _“Be a good man, Bruce,”_ Thomas has said. Those were his final words before he died. Bruce screamed, but this was Gotham and Martha knew that well. No one would come for him, especially not in Crime Alley. She knew that and she had orchestrated this to be precise. His kill would be clean with no tie to herself. She would inherit the Wayne fortune and receive all the benefits of raising Bruce by herself. She turned to the gunman with a smile. He smiled at her as well and pointed the gun towards her. Martha’s eyes widened.

 

_         “We had a deal!”  _ said Martha. He tsked with his other finger. 

 

_         “We did. Now, it is over.”  _ Bruce watched the scene in horror. He was a smart boy. He knew what his mother had done and he knew that she was the only one left for him. He began to shake violently and cowered behind his mother, watching his father’s body bleed onto the dirty street. Martha laughed loudly as the gunman approached her. He grasped her pearls and tore them from her neck. She flinched at the touch, some of the pearls falling off the chain. Bruce began to cry at the scene. He pocketed the pearls and then shot his gun once more. Martha fell to the ground with her arms clutching her wound. Bruce saw her and as he saw the life drain from her eyes, he began to smile. All at once, behind the gunman’s head, he could see his mother and father smile at him. All he could do was return the favor. 

 

        Bruce waited, eye closed, and  _ waited _ . He heard a clink and a reloading noise; confused, he opened his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he saw Alfred Pennyworth with a shotgun and stern expression. The gunman’s hands were raised above his head and his gun was in the dumpster behind him. Alfred stepped towards him and pushed him out of the alleyway with the butt of his shotgun. Bruce watched intently. The gunman bolted away into the street and Bruce shook violently. Alfred attended to him immediately, picking him up in his arms. Bruce continued to shake until the police arrived at the scene. Alfred watched as a kind officer offered Bruce a blanket. When Bruce saw the blanket he began to laugh and cry. The officer pulled away from Bruce and turned to Alfred for some kind of explanation; he didn't have one. 

 

        All at once, Bruce’s frail, young,  _ impressionable  _ mind rationalized his situation. His mother and father were perfect, they always had been. Their love of him was immeasurable. Their good nature was vast. He stared at Alfred, his new guardian, and rationalized that too. He had just found him alone. He had no gun and he had made no threats. That was the story. There was nothing else to it. It had been an accident, nothing that  _ anyone  _ could’ve prevented. Alfred took the same storyline. As he told the police what had happened in a vague sense of delirium. He stuck to that story because he could not bear to tell Bruce otherwise. It was all so simple and all so easy. He just needed to fight. Fighting meant something. He couldn’t fight the gunman. He couldn’t save his parents. He was innocent. He was changed. When he turned eighteen, he journeyed all over the globe, learning every method he could to fight. When he returned to Gotham, prepared for anything, Alfred greeted him. He did not sleep that night. He sat in the chair his father had before him and stared out into the large window. It lit the room dimly in blue tones. He heard the bat before it came. He watched as the bat broke through the window and he smiled.

 


	12. Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... the fall.

        “What part of our life is truly under our control? What if we choose to exist purely in a reality of our own making? Does that render us insane? And if it does, isn't that better than a life of despair?”

 

                                                                                                                                                - Paul Haggis,  _ The Next Three Days _

 

* * *

 

        Bruce couldn’t feel his fingers or toes. His whole body felt numb. He looked on at the Joker’s body and next to him stood his other  _ true  _ form. His mother, with chalk white skin and ruby red lipstick, stared back him with a smile. Her teeth were pearly and her dress was the same one she wore the day she died. Her hair was curled and cut and  _ green _ . Bruce shivered as she twirled a pistol with her pointer finger. He watched and watched in disbelief. The memories were enough; he did not need  _ her  _ here to remind him of what he had repressed. But, in a cruel way, this moment he had been waiting for his entire life. Her eyes are distracting blue and her movements are uncomfortably sporadic. He watched her twirl and dance in front of him. Dick and Jason watched Bruce cautiously. He had not spoken for a while. The whole room anxiously awaited his words. Damian let his eyes nervously rest on Bruce’s form. He watched as his father stared on blankly. Selina made no moves to speak or leave. She wanted to know what he was thinking. She could tell he wasn’t staring at the Joker. His eyes were too off for that. He was staring at something none of them could see and that scared Selina most of all. 

 

        “Bruce,” she spoke. The trio behind Bruce turned to her hastily. She walked towards him, each step clacking subtlely when she planted her feet. “What are you staring at?” She can feel Jason shooting her daggers. But, they never pierced her. She knew what she was asking. She knew she would receive an answer. Bruce reacted lately, his eyes drifting to Selina’s with a detached rhythm.

 

        “Mother,” he spoke. The answer only made her ask more questions. From all his actions, she would have thought he would have forgotten all about his parents. “She’s all dressed up, she’s ready to go to the alleyway.” The room remained quiet. Jason seemed to snap, stomping over to Bruce and violently turning his chair around to face him. He crouched down in front of him and frantically searched for humanity in his eyes. When he could not find it, he stayed in place and settled stern expression. Bruce had no reaction, his face remaining empty and distracted. “I remember everything now,” he said. “Everything… for better or worse.”

 

        “What does that mean?” Jason asked. He was becoming irritated with him but, at the same time, he could sense that whatever he had knowledge of disturbed him. Bruce had taken innocent lives and he could still be disturbed. Jason held some hope in that. Bruce’s eyes shed tears, that slid down his face in an easy and repetitive pattern. Selina thought quietly to herself. 

 

        “Bruce,” Selina called out again. “What does she look like?” Dick, who stood directly behind Bruce, stared at the back of his head. He felt empty and hollow. He thought he’d find answers with Bruce in the flesh. But as he sat in the chair, astray from the world around him, Dick could not find any peace. He stepped around to Jason’s side and stared at Bruce’s face, leaving Damian to stand alone. Bruce seemed to struggle to find his words. Selina stepped closer too. “Bruce, what did she look like?” she repeated. He swallowed, his throat dry and his voice hoarse. But his thoughts were stapled with certainty.

 

        “What do you think?” he responded. He paused and no one spoke; Selina already knew the answer to her own question. Jason stood up from the ground and joined Dick’s side. “It was never about him…  I can see that now” –– Martha stood in front of him, bending down to kiss him on the forehead –– “But it’s all too late for that now, isn’t it?” His voice seemed to echo, as did the mirthless laughter that followed. Damian stared at his father with tears in his eyes. Martha leaned back, tears running down her face; the mascara stained her face. “No, it’s too late for me… but it’s not too late for you.” Martha dissolved slowly in front of him, leaving no trace. Bruce shed another tear for her. Damian watched as his father addressed him with a tremor in his body. It was a strange and unusual reaction for Damian. Jason looked at Damian and furrowed his brows in concern. Bruce took note of his reaction and turned his head in Damian’s direction. His eyes widened in fear. Damian didn’t miss his father’s fearful expression. “Don’t let him do that,” he whispered. “Oh no, no no,” he repeated. Dick stood and watched Bruce as Jason came to Damian’s aid. Bruce looked back to Dick.  “Just don’t let him watch,” Bruce spoke. “Please.”

 

        “Why?” Dick spoke. It was the first time he had spoken since Bruce and the Joker had been taken here. “Why didn’t you fight it?” Bruce smiled faintly at Dick. Jason watched as Damian shook in his arms. He hugged him tightly, looking back to Bruce with the very same fear he had shown moments before. 

 

        “I did… I did until I couldn’t handle another one being taken away.” Dick snorted as if in protest. 

 

        “Why wasn’t Jason the one? Why wasn’t I the one?” he questioned. His tone was vengeful and Bruce understood it. Bruce laughed until it hurt. Dick’s face remained blank. His rage was just barely hidden beneath the surface. He looked at Damian who seemed to stare at Bruce with the knowledge he didn’t know or understand. He knew the answer to his question and that alone, changed his mind. He pointed to Damian and Jason. “Get him out of here,” he instructed to Jason. Selina watched and cowered all the same. She had known Bruce, more than she thought she had. She had always suspected that he had hidden something about himself. What she hadn’t known was that he had hidden it even to himself. 

 

        “You never had  _ this _ ,” he responded. “You don’t have my blood––”

 

        “And Joker did?” he fought back. He marched over to his body and held up his head. “Just admit it.”

 

        “Admit what?” Bruce asked. “That I like men? I don’t like men… you still don’t understand––” This only infuriated Dick more. 

 

        “Then what is it, Bruce?” Dick asked. “What is it that you have that we don’t?”

 

        “Arkham,” he whispered. Dick didn’t hear him. Selina did. She gasped.

 

        “What?” Dick said.

 

        “I’m an  _ Arkham _ !” he shouted. Dick seemed to eye him curiously. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear and it only made him angrier.

 

        “I know that. That doesn’t change anything. Why do you have that I don’t?” Bruce sighed and rumbled with laughter. It was the kind of laughter that Joker often used against Bruce. It was the only kind Dick ever heard and it unnerved him.

 

        “I’m– I’m… scared,” he spoke quietly. “I always have been. But my mother knew that and she-she killed him, Dick.” A tremor ran through his whole body. Selina approached him, taking his hand. 

 

        “The police reports––”

 

        “She paid him, Alfred knew. He always had. He let me live the lie.” Dick didn’t want that answer. He wanted him to admit his evilness and his true intentions all along. This was not what he had wanted. He had always thought that fear had led him to love the Joker. But he didn’t like the implication of his words. He looked down at Joker’s body and let go of Joker’s head gradually as he did. 

 

        “Bruce, why didn’t you remember?” Bruce didn’t flinch away from the touch as he thought he would. He smiled at her, and it was genuine. She looked up at him with something that resembled hope and he looked back at her with disappointment. 

 

        “Because I didn’t want to remember. B-Because I wanted to forget. Because I was afraid that if I remembered, I would become just like her…” he trailed off. Selina squeezed his hand and painfully let it go. Bruce did not watch her as she left. Selina could not watch any longer. His fate had been written and that was all she could do to leave. Now, Dick and Bruce remained. Dick seemed defeated. His posture was slouched slightly and he could not seem to speak. “Are you going to kill me now?” Dick turned to him but did not answer. “I want you to do it.” Bruce had made his decision the moment he had remembered. It was better, for all of them. He had killed Tim and Stephanie, who now appeared to him. They smiled, arms interlinked. He had killed Clark, who had loved him without judgment. He floated just above the ground, with a wide grin. Bruce smiled back at them. He looked to Joker’s body, the man who had made him so happy; the man who had made him realize something that had always been there. Joker had loved him more than he had deserved and he would cherish that. Bruce’s love was never to Joker and that was what hurt him most. Joker had known that, deep down, but chose to ignore it. What Bruce had always wanted, what he had denied to himself, was his mother. 

 

        Her hair and her mentality. The Joker had reminded Bruce of her, even if he hadn’t known why. Her laughter, her psyche, her  _ love _ . The connection was undeniable now. He had convinced himself it was just his sexuality. It had nothing to do with it. Bruce had hidden and buried the real pain so deep that there was no connection to be made. He smiled to himself as he could see the Joker once more. He smiled at Bruce, but not the happy kind of smile. It was the kind of smile of reluctant acceptance. Bruce had wished he could have had more time with him. The Joker was more than just a substitute. But, Bruce could never have known that. He smiled back at him and cried. His tears were silent. Dick watched him with a sick fascination. It made him ill to see his mentor, his  _ father _ , enthralled with his own hallucinations. He thought about all the times that he had seen Bruce alone. All the times that Alfred had looked at him with heartbreak on his eyes. He thought about how he never spoke about his parents. But what he thought most of all, the thing that tore at his own fragile mind, was his own ignorance. He had never seen Bruce turn and he had never cared enough to think it could happen. He had watched and done nothing. Now, it was his responsibility to put him out of his misery and he no longer felt the drive to do so. He was just human, with the flaws that made him kill. That was the worst part. Dick had no reason other than he loved him. 

 

        “I’m… sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn’t help you because I didn’t see. I-I don’t know why I couldn’t see it sooner––”

 

        “You don’t need to apologize. Just do it.” Dick smiled joylessly. He removed his mask and picked up a gun off a metal table. It was one of Jason’s favorites. He held the gun with hesitation. He closed his eyes and began to count to himself. As he did, he remembered when he first wore the Robin costume. Tears filled his eyes as he approached Bruce. He held up the gun. Bruce smiled and closed his eyes. A shot and silence. Dick let the tears fall down his face. It was slow and meticulous. He closed his eyes again, his arm still raised in place and his body shaking. He felt a  _ presence  _ enter the room. He held the gun up until he could feel someone touch his arm. He slowly allowed the hand, despite its lack of pressure, to guide his arm down. He dropped the gun and opened his eyes. Bruce stood next to him, while dead in front of him, and removed his hand. Dick turned to face him and Bruce smiled at him. Dick smiled back. He could feel himself become a kid again, almost as if turning back time itself. He watched as Bruce placed a kiss on his forehead. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Bruce was gone. Dick fell to the ground in grief and looked over to Bruce’s body… then slowly, to Joker. He cried and breathed and  _ shook _ , from side to side _.  _ Then, he calmed. Then, he rationalized with himself.

 

        No one stopped Dick Grayson from falling and no one saw him hit the ground. And when he hit the ground, he was reborn. Reborn and new and  _ changed _ .

 

––– The End –––


End file.
